Challenge of a Young Heart
by Narthal
Summary: Fleur arrives at Hogwarts and struggles to get along with Hermione. Fleur/Hermione.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Old fan, new to writing a fan fic. Fleur/Hermione.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Legal Rights to the Harry Potter books, videogames, movies or memorabilia. I do not make any profits from adding this to the fanfic database. All praises go to JKR. =)

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><p>Chapter 1.<p>

Chocolate brown curls sway in an entrancing rhythm, framing that determined face you like to follow around the corridors. Those sparkling brown eyes are always restless, keen to observe and analyze, permanently on alert. You notice there are depths and depths to those beautiful eyes. And a unique softness that is reserved to very few of her friends. You wonder what it would be like to delve into them, to have their undivided attention, to lower your barriers and let them focus into your own blue ones, to allow the girl a direct access into your soul. Would the brunette be able to reach inside and see you for who you are?

The Hogwarts student has a quality to her stance, an attitude, a poise of her own, and it makes her stand out from everyone else. Her quick pace tells the world that time is a precious asset that she values and has no intention to waste. In complete honesty, you never realized when exactly that brunette began to draw your attention. You are only aware that now it is a part of your days to seek the young girl among the crowd at least a couple of times. It is entertaining and, with every look, you notice something new about her. Little things that matter.

A Gryffindor, from the colors of her uniform. You were told that Gryffindors are known for boldness and courage. It suits her perfectly. Hermione is her name. It is an unusual name. You learned it in the corridors, as the brunette's closest friends called out to her. There is the Potter boy, who is also a champion and makes her smile. He seems sweet. And there is that other redheaded boy who had been angry at Harry before the first task of the Tournament. This one eats in mouthfuls and drools under the effect of your Veela charms. He is weird, but Hermione likes him.

True to her nature, the brunette is always burdened by a large rucksack filled with books. It turns out that the library is one of her favorite places, even during the weekends, and her ink-stained fingers cannot be more enticing then when they are up and about, scribbling away at rolls and rolls of parchment. You love to stare at those hands. So soft, and yet so firm and practiced with a quill or a wand. You sigh out loud and can't help but wonder how amazing it would be to touch them, to hold those hands in your own.

The more you think about her, the more you know that you have it bad.

This is too new. It is happening too fast. This has 'complete mess' spelled over it.

After all, you are Fleur Delacour, part-Veela, ace student, champion for Beuxbatons Academy of Magic. You, of all people, should not be at a loss.

In all of your life, lots of people came to you on their own. The Veela charms made sure of that. For your protection, your mother taught you how to keep a safe distance, an emotional detachment from the many strangers that claimed your attention. Thus, you never reciprocated, never reached out, never sought a single one of those people. Even considering the very few that caught your attention without the influence of the charms, none ever came close to being more than friends. Stating the obvious truth, no one had ever really interested you.

Until now.

Now you are treading uncharted territory. You crave to get to know better this brunette, this witty, sensible and intriguing teenager. Young, raw, untamed, passionate, the one that touched your heart so gently, and she did it without wanting, caring or even knowing it.

You are crushing, willing to have the girl's company and, yet, you have no clue if she holds any good feelings for you at all. Of any kind.

The brunette acts oblivious to you or downright not interested, always scowling your way. She makes you feel shy, insecure, not good enough and unwanted. A whole set of brand new feelings that sting and you don't welcome a single one of them.

One of your friends finds it ironic. Some of your peers might even say funny. You think it's abysmally depressing.

Too much of your daily energy goes into thinking about her, while time is relentlessly marching forward. You will stay at Hogwarts only for this term. Days are ticking away. This may be your only chance to make her notice you.

After exchanged glances that end up with one of her trademark glares at you, after tentative smiles that go unrequited, after random attempts to start conversation that are greeted with nothing but silence, you are growing frustrated from the sequence of failures. She doesn't give you any chance to come closer. The brunette is clammed up and barely keeps a polite civility when it regards you.

Still, you do your part with unwavering resolve, even if in a more subsided manner. You have to. She is here, isn't she? Then you have to try. And try again, and again, and again, no matter how many times she shuts down on you.

It takes only a few weeks for you to have her class schedule and routine memorized. You know when she goes to the library, where she sits at the Gryffindor table for meals, which corridors she uses to get around and the path she chooses to walk the grounds with her friends. You don't outright stalk her. That would be beneath you. Unbecoming of the Delacour that you are.

You resign yourself to look at her discreetly when you are walking through the same corridors, throw openly disbelieving comments at Rita Skeeter's ramblings on her friends (when she's not listening, of course) and maintain a respectful distance when she sits nearby.

Over the course of a few days, noticing that now you are mostly leaving her alone, her demeanor changes slightly and she stops scowling. Only a serious or blank expression betrays that she has acknowledged your presence. You welcome the change, even one as small as it is.

One afternoon you see her campaigning for the house-elves again at break time. Your curiosity gets the better of you and you finally approach her timidly, using this opportunity to introduce yourself and learn her full name. You listen carefully to what she has to say. It is the first time she actually speaks to you.

From what you know of the relationship between wizards and house-elves, you realize this must be a lonely crusade for her. Not many are bound to agree with her point of view. She is amused when you show true interest in her opinion and answers your questions in a very thorough way. A large number of students gather around you and she is placed under the spotlights. You join SPEW and wear the badge she designed. Many follow your lead and, as you take your leave, your heart soars with the obvious grin that spreads on her lips.

This is the happiest you've been in weeks. A big triumph for her, a small victory for you.

You go to breakfast the following morning with your friends at the Great Hall and an owl delivers a long letter from home. A huge grin lights up your features and you soon tear through the seals and read all of it. You barely take bites here and there, chuckling at several parts of the entertaining news. Your friends start to nag you until you share, telling them the latest pranks your little sister has pulled back at home.

In no time, all that were hearing you out are joining in and laughing as well. Gabrielle is definitely a piece of work. When you're done reading, you run your eyes fondly through the letter a last time, and then put it away. Moods are high and you finally decide to eat properly while listening to the ongoing conversation.

Absentmindedly, you glance in her general direction. This time, she is looking straight at you. From the intensity of her stare, you can almost tell that she has been watching you for a while. It is so unexpected that you blush against your will and you barely manage to keep your eyes locked on hers. Her gaze is heated and you sense she is trying to read you. With some dose of hesitation, you manage a very small smile.

She watches you still and then presents you with a wide and toothy smile of her own. It is beautiful and your brain goes haywire. You gape so goofily in response that she starts to chuckle, then shakes her head, turning her attention to the friends and plates of food around her.

Later on, none of your friends understands how you can manage to keep _that_ huge smile plastered on your face through the entire Potions class, right under Professor Snape's nose.

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><p>TBC<p>

Comments are appreciated. Thank you for taking the time to read!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I would like to thank all the readers of this simple fic. The reviews and comments were very nice, and it was great to receive any kind of appreciation for a first trial. To the ones that marked this as a favorite or asked to receive alerts on future updates, I hope to make it worth your while.

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><p>Chapter 2.<p>

On a late Tuesday, you hurry back to the library to continue your on-going research for the latest Potions essay, due the following day. You're shocked to see that it's packed full of people.

Probably the professors have handed out a lot of homework or tests are weighting down on the consciences of the students. It's hard to find an empty table among the ones you had already chosen as your favorites. All taken.

You finally find a good place to study farther away from the hustle and bustle, close to a window and rather hidden by many large book shelves. It will do. You collect the books you need, organize them in a large pile in front of you, spread out your things on the table and get to work.

You're so focused on the task at hand that you barely notice when someone stands close to the table and talks to you. The harsh scratching noise of your quill racing across parchment is all your mind registers, until you feel a soft tap on your right shoulder and you're surprised to meet quizzical brown eyes framed by dark curly hair.

"Je suis désolée," you mumble with wide eyes. "Hmm... 'Ello! You said something to me?"

She nods and keeps her voice low, "Hello, Fleur. I asked if I could sit at this end of your table. I see that you're really into what you're doing and I didn't mean to disturb you. Unfortunately, I can't find anywhere else to sit. Do you mind?"

"Oh! Non, I do not mind... Please, it is alright. Should I move my zings?" you offer politely.

"No, thanks. There's enough room for me as it is. I don't need much," she replies and takes the seat opposite from you, pulling books and parchment from her rucksack to promptly get started.

You silently watch as she settles in, then your glance drifts sideways and you spot her two friends in the distance. Harry and Ronald are sitting at a large table close to the entrance of the library. Large enough for her to have stayed there.

That's unexpected. You wonder if something has happened between them.

You look back at her and she realizes you've seen them. To make her comfortable, you give her a small smile and avoid bringing it up, making instead a short question about something else,

pointing at the books and rolls of parchment in front of her, "Exam?"

"Yes. Charms. And you?" she counters.

"Potions. 'Uuuge essay," you state, stretching the word a little for emphasis, all too aware that it must sound a little funny with your intense accent.

She smiles, nodding in understanding and starts to go through her books.

You try to get back to what you were doing as well, when a delicate scent fills the gap between you. Looking up, you notice that her hair is damp. This soft pine essence must be her shampoo, then. It is distracting and you strain yourself to try and concentrate, without much success. However, pleasant as it is to dwell on the moment and enjoy this closeness, the deadline for the essay really is tomorrow and Professor Snape has a reputation for being anything but forgiving. You snap back to reality, shake your head and coax your brain into action once again.

For the next hours, your quill runs impatiently through scrolls of parchment and her finger turns page after page of that book of spells. On occasion, either one of you lifts the gaze from what you're doing and looks around for a short distraction. Pointedly, your eyes never connect with hers.

As time goes by, you observe that a few students begin to leave. Taking a small break, you excuse yourself to go to the ladies' room, then refresh your parched throat and return with a small cup of water for her. She mouths a 'thank you' in silence and drinks it in small sips.

You return to your research until it's nearly eight o'clock and Madam Pince gets ready to close the library for the day. Hermione gives up on studying and picks up the rucksack, turning to settle her eyes on you, "I think we should go, Fleur. Are you done with your essay, yet?"

You scribble a last sentence, put down your quill and breathe out in relief, "Oui, all done now." Taking a look around, you notice someone staring back and you add, "You can go ahead, 'Ermione. I need a few moments to pack my zings and put ze books back where zey belong."

"Why don't you get your things ready? I can help you with the books," she replies.

You take another look at the other table and you know you are not imagining things, so you press on, "'Ermione, zank you, but zat will not be necessary. I can do zis on my own. Besides, I zink someone is wanting to talk to you."

Hermione is taken aback and whirls in the direction your eyes are pointing out. "Oh! That's Viktor." She waves her hand at him with a smile, then turns to you, "It's alright. We meet here sometimes to study. He knows I come a lot to the library."

You feel a sting inside that you don't want to give a name to and keep the conversation in a light tone as you pack quill, ink and rolls of parchment. "I met 'im some time ago. 'E is a good man. You must be one of ze few people 'e talks to in zis school."

She nods at that in sympathy and smiles to herself, tracing random patterns on the tabletop with her fingers, "Yes, you're right. I think he is quite lonely here. You know, Viktor asked me to go to the Yule Ball with him. That's why I didn't want to sit with Harry and Ron before. Ron has been bothering me about the Ball and I didn't want to mention Viktor, yet. I think some people will be surprised."

The understatement of the year. You are extremely surprised by the news, not to say shocked, but you keep piling the books in front of you and say nothing. Of all the competition you could expect and dread, did it have to be an older male student who also happens to be the best Quidditch Seeker in the world? How can anyone even compare to _that_?

'Okay, _stop_,' you reprimand yourself. 'Don't overthink things. You have enough on your plate as it is.'

One step at a time. Slow and calm. Breathe in, breathe out.

Oh, well, you had been expecting something like this would come up. After all, ever since Madame Maxime announced the news of the Ball, you knew that someone else would ask Hermione to go. Someone the brunette didn't reject. Someone she didn't have the urge to scowl at first sight. You've had a sinking feeling in your stomach about the Ball all along. _This_ was one of the reasons.

"Did you pick a date to go?" continued Hermione.

And _that_ was the other reason out in the open. As a champion, you are expected to choose someone to go and dance with them in front of all of the school.

"Oui. Roger Davies, from Ravenclaw," you sigh. This is not a pleasant topic for conversation. Especially not with _her_.

You look at her with a dose of sorrow that you can't hold back, but then try to steel yourself quickly in the hopes that she didn't see any of it. Except… this is Hermione Granger, so she was sure to notice.

"You don't seem too thrilled," she says, stating the obvious. "The Ball is the most exciting social event to take place in this castle for the past twenty years, or so they say. Don't you think it will be fun?"

"I would prefer to go alone zan in ze company of someone I do not find amusing. Unfortunately, champions are denied zat choice. I cannot go by myself," you reply and stand up, picking some of the books and taking them to their respective shelves.

When you return to the table in order to retrieve the last batch of books, she doesn't give up and keeps steering the conversation in the same direction. "Then why don't you go with another student that you _do_ find amusing? You have plenty of admirers lining up to be your date. Certainly there is at least one option that meets your standards, right?" she asks in a playful tone.

You give her a hard stare, knowing full well that your eyes have gone frosty in fractions of a second. She frowns and keeps her eyes defiantly locked on yours.

"Non. Zere is no one interesting available," is all you manage in a low voice.

She goes back to scowling and it looks very harsh on her. You're glad that it's an expression you haven't seen on her face in a long time. "Come on, Fleur. You can't be serious. With so many possibilities? Students from _three_ different schools? Don't you have anyone in mind?"

You are tired of this beating around the bush, so you quit arranging the books and deadpan, "Oui, I did wish to go with someone else."

With a satisfied know-it-all smile, she promptly goes on in a sweet voice, "See? There had to be someone to catch your attention. I'm sure there's not a single student that wouldn't love to go with you. Why don't you ask him?"

You shake your head and fight back the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose.

For such a bright witch, she can be _so_ dense sometimes.

You exhale loudly. Placing your open palms flatly on the table to support your weight, you lean forward and bring your face closer to hers. A small part of your brain registers the fact that this is the closest you've ever been to her.

You gaze deep into those brown sparkling orbs, a shade of longing barely hidden in yours. "'Ermione, please listen carefully. I did not ask because _she_..." you pause a little for effect, hoping that the words sink in, "... would not want to go wiz me. Comprenez-vous?"

She looks blankly at you and then her eyebrows slowly rise up on her forehead. When she starts to gape, you are confident that you got your point across. Retracting your hands, you pick up the last stack of books, move to the shelves and make quick work of disposing them.

As you are completing the task and approaching your table again, Madam Pince shoos everyone out. You collect your things and Hermione is still staring blankly into open space.

It is as you had suspected all along... The girl didn't have a clue about you.

With an even voice, you call out to her, "Shall we go? It is time to leave."

Hermione blinks a few times and looks oddly at you, as if she was seeing you for the first time. You tilt your head and frown lightly, then point at the doors. Her eyes follow your hand and she briskly stands up, lifting the rucksack and almost knocking down her chair.

You walk in silence with her out of the library and through the corridors, until you reach the portrait of the Fat Lady. You both stop and she just stands there, completely zoned out. Patiently, you wait until she floats back to reality and whirls around to face you.

"Zis is where you stay, correct?" you ask in a neutral tone, standing a few steps away and not invading her personal space.

She looks at the Fat Lady and her surroundings in surprise. The brunette finally nods, whispers the password to the portrait and casts her gaze to the floor.

Retreating to the stairs, you say in a steady voice, "Good night, 'Ermione. Sleep well."

"Good night, Fleur. See you later," she barely whispers.

You freeze on the spot. The moment she says that phrase, you have the overwhelming feeling that she doesn't mean it. You just know. Focusing all your senses on her, you finally appreciate the full extent of just how uncomfortable she is now in your presence.

Years of curiously watching others have turned you into an expert at reading body language and now she is speaking volumes in that silent dialect. Her posture reeks of fear, anxiety and vulnerability. Maybe there's even a hint of aversion or disgust, but you can't be sure. She doesn't meet your eyes.

This shatters your heart to pieces. You feel small as you've never felt before and you stumble a few more steps away from her.

She goes into her Common Room and the portrait closes back in place.

You linger there, alone, staring at the Fat Lady for a long while until she starts a horrid attempt at singing an aria and you turn to leave.

_Merde_.

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><p>TBC<p>

Your opinion is always important and I appreciate it. Thank you for sticking with this!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This is a small warning about the long chapter below. I know second-person narratives can be very boring, especially when they are extensive. In my (poor) defense, I did try to trim it down, but this includes the Yule Ball, so there's quite a bit of everything going on. Hopefully, it won't be too tiresome to read.

My sincere thanks to all that read/reviewed. Comments and suggestions were great, as well.

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><p>Chapter 3.<p>

The following morning you get up ahead of time, shower and dress quickly, and then head out for the Great Hall before any of your friends is ready to go to breakfast with you. When you arrive, you notice that some of the students are already eating and getting started for the day. Hermione is comfortably seated and talking to her friends.

Taking a deep breath, you leave your things at the Ravenclaw table, gather what courage you can and walk over to the Gryffindors. You bow your head at them and your presence doesn't go exactly unnoticed. The Ronald boy fades into a purple mess, Harry is quiet and rigid, a younger redheaded girl besides Hermione frowns at you (how original) and Hermione uses a fork to move food around on her plate.

You remain in silence, looking at her, trying to find the right words to get her attention.

The angry redhead girl doesn't give you a chance to speak and blurts out an annoyed "_Yes_?"

Drifting your gaze sideways, you look into scowling Fierce-girl's eyes for the first time and reply slowly, "I would like to speak to 'Ermione."

The brunette shakes her head and Fierce-girl takes the lead again, sarcasm dripping from her lips, "She's busy at the moment."

You just stand there and the girl slowly lifts her head, letting her gaze meet yours at last, but you can't make out what's going on in her mind. "I zink an apology is in order. Zat is why I am 'ere."

Hermione shakes her head again, vigorously this time, and mumbles a low "It's okay." Fierce-girl looks at her intently, probably having a hard time restraining her curiosity, then turns to glare at you through narrowed eyes.

You bite your lip and close your eyes briefly. "I... see. Perhaps it was a mistake to come. Je vous prie de m'excuser. Zis will not 'appen again, I promise you. 'Ave a nice breakfast."

On your way back, a familiar owl flies to you and delivers the latest from Gabrielle. This might help lighten your mood afterwards. You return to the Ravenclaw table, pick your things plus an apple from the fruit tray and head out. Just out. Out of the Hall, out of the castle, out of the sights of any other living being (and the non-living that hover about), out of the stuffy air that suddenly fills Hogwarts.

Is there any way things can get worse? Non, strike that. It's better not to dare say that.

You find a flat rock to sit down and force yourself to eat the apple. It's quite hard getting small bites through the lump in your throat, but you eat, nonetheless. You'll need the energy to keep up with classes until lunch time.

Removing your cap, you take down your ponytail and let your hair cascade down your right shoulder. In slow motions, you run your hands through the loose strands, trying to relax. Furious with yourself can't even begin to describe how you're feeling right now. What were you _thinking_, strolling to that side of the Hall and being all polite, nearly offering yourself to be shot down?

How can you have a chance at fixing anything with her, if all you do hits a dead end?

Well, no more.

This was the last straw. The last drop to overflow your disappointment about any of this.

During the weeks that follow, you decide to change your routine. You certainly don't miss the way Hermione behaved and going in for a third dose might cause you some large measures of emotional damage. There's no way you'll volunteer to be her unintended punchbag.

It's time to give the brunette that much needed space to breathe. She won't even remember you two go to the same school, if it depends on you.

You still have your meals at the Great Hall and attend all your classes, but now you take longer routes through solitary corridors and you only stay in the library when you know she will be in class. There's no more looking at her, being close to the girl, and you make sure to always be surrounded by a tight pack of friends when you are spending time over conversation or wandering through the grounds. You're certain that she'd never approach you when you're not alone. This covers all the risks.

Most of your free time is now spent inside your room at the Beauxbatons carriage, reading or studying. Of course, this makes you feel imprisoned, but at least it keeps you at bay from the attempts of boys of all sizes and ages trying daily to ask you to the Ball. Even the Ronald boy interrupts a nice conversation with Mr. Diggory one day and asks you to be his date. The _nerve_ of him. You don't bother to grace him with an answer.

After term reaches its end and the younger students leave for the holidays, the days become even more boring for you. The school is too silent and empty. Without the pressing routine of classes, you now have too much idle time on your hands. In desperation, you set your efforts and mind on trying to figure out what the screeching egg for the second task means in order to avoid going crazy.

Or perhaps it's a losing battle all the same and you are about to go crazy anyway because of that other thing that's bound to happen tonight... The Yule Ball.

The Davies boy is so excited to take you to the Ball that he's nearly blowing up in spontaneous combustion whenever he looks at you. Your stomach churns in response, but you gracefully keep a straight and blank face. You're expected to be content about it, aren't you?

Towards the final hours of the afternoon, you start to get ready. The one thought leading you on is that _she_ will be all dressed up and having fun. For once, you'll have a glimpse not at the girl, but at the woman she is growing to be. Maybe she'll even spare you some attention. It's more than worth being in pristine condition to earn just that.

You take your time bathing and brushing your hair, applying a little make-up and getting dressed in the nice silver-gray robes that your mother sent you last week. Small earrings that are a match to your necklace and not-so-high heels complete your appearance. Taking an appraising look in the mirror, you think it's good enough, but not over the top. Classy and unpretentious. Safe.

It's time to go now and you follow your friends to the castle to meet your dance partners. They all notice and become very excited about the rosebushes that were conjured close to the doors of the school, set in meandering paths and illuminated by many scintillating fairy lights. Along the way, there are cute benches to sit outside, some scattered stone statues and a beautiful water fountain. From the look of things, Hogwarts spared no efforts to make this Ball memorable.

At the Entrance Hall, you are greeted by your date. Mr. Davies is handsomely dressed and a large number of girls make a show of noticing him in front of you. Little do they know that you would be more than willing to let any of them keep him company for the night.

Looking closely, you realize he is not yet drooling, but his eyes are far from focused. Your shoulders briefly slump. Great. Just what you needed.

Professor McGonagall tries to set the champions and their companions in position for a grand entrance and you quickly realize that everyone is there, except Hermione. You take small breaths to control your anxiety while you fight the need to glare at the large Krum boy that's pacing up and down, impatiently waiting for her. This is definitely not your idea of a good omen.

The brunette is fashionably late and stress keeps eating you up. Suddenly, a slow murmur catches your attention and you turn in the direction of the stairway. You watch transfixed as she swiftly appears at the top of the stairs. A sight to commit to memory.

She's done something to her hair and it looks spectacular. It's silky and set in a fancy knot, showing off her beautiful neck. The soft make-up and simple jewelry highlight her delicate features and the fire in her eyes. Her periwinkle-blue robes are more sophisticated than you expected and she stands at her full height, overlooking the crowd as she glides downstairs on low-heeled shoes.

An angel floating down to earth.

Simply elegant. The full-blown beauty you've always thought of her. And now she's out in the open, for all in the school to notice. You look around. Is it too horrid that you suddenly harbor bitter feelings towards everyone looking and gaping at her like _that_?

A long sigh escapes your lungs. Despite your personal feelings, you have to admit that deep down, a part of you is happy for her. Hermione more that deserves to be appreciated for her looks and the stature of the date that took interest in her company. You have the impression her self-esteem needed a little push and this might do the trick.

She comes closer and places her arm gently around Viktor's. You can't stop yourself from giving a dismal side-look at your own partner.

Her eyes seek yours and a soft blush taints your cheeks. This is the first time you've looked into each other's eyes in weeks. If that wasn't enough, she runs those fiery chocolate orbs all over you slowly and smiles in appreciation. You avert your eyes, looking down, fully aware that you're now blushing furiously. You were not ready for this. Hopefully, the subdued torchlight of the room conceals it a bit.

The Transfiguration Professor rushes everyone into the Great Hall, and then calls out to the four champions and their dates, inviting you to enter for dinner. All of you take a seat at the table set for the judges and champions under applause from the student body.

As you are settling down and greeting the other people at your table, you catch Hermione stealing glances at you and your date when she thinks no one is noticing. This makes you uneasy and upset. You had no plans to spend the evening satisfying someone else's scientific curiosity on human-Veela interactions. Especially one that is bound to go downhill.

You shake your mind away from your present thoughts and distract yourself with your surroundings.

The decoration is charming and very well planned for Christmas. It makes the Hall look more grandiose than usual, with all the silver frost, glittering icicles and arrangements of mistletoe and ivy. A cloudless starry night covers the enchanted ceiling and it stands out as the perfect background for the Ball.

Students from the three schools are sitting together at smaller, lantern-lit tables, and an exquisite mix of colors from all the dress robes spreads across the environment. Excitement and loud chatter fills the air.

Even the hovering ghosts are entertaining, though that rude poltergeist still gives you the creeps. Frowning, you notice that, of all possible targets, he is now floating your way, cackling something you can't understand. It's probably related to that last day of term, when he ambushed the corridor to your Charms class, throwing balloons of freezing water and bits of chalk at anything that moved.

You slowly pull out your wand, twirl it between your fingers and place it in front of your plate, smiling sweetly at him all the while. A veiled threat flashes in the evil glint of your eyes. It seems he remembers what happened that day, since he blows a huge raspberry at you and takes a detour away from your table. You breathe out in relief. This is not the moment for you to waste time worrying about Peeves.

As your attention returns to the table, you realize that Hermione has her arms crossed and she directs a quizzical look from Peeves to you. For whatever reason, something about her makes it look like she's not asking, but _demanding_ an explanation. Worse even, she doesn't speak a single word to you. Your patience is wearing thin. After a short respite, you respond in kind, gracefully tilting your head and raising a challenging eyebrow at her. This earns you a complete change in her demeanor. She rolls her eyes and goes on to ignore you, starting a conversation with Viktor.

Oh, _really_? Two can play at that game.

From the corner of your eye, you notice your date is ogling you and it makes you wonder if he can hold his own in a straightforward chat. Deciding it's a good time to test the waters, you give him your undivided attention and begin to talk, comparing Hogwarts to Beauxbatons.

He listens quietly and you argue on, openly antagonizing the two schools and favoring your own. You make sure to talk loudly enough that your words carry around and that a _certain_ someone can hear you. Mr. Davies doesn't react or defend the place he's spent the larger part of the past six years of his life. To make a point, you finish your last statement hitting your hand on the table to startle his mind into action. He simply imitates your gesture and babbles, repeating a part of what you've just said.

You direct a piercing look at him, through squinting eyes. As you suspected, he is now in a complete daze. You sigh in frustration. It was only a matter of time. Eyes glazed over, gaping, looking at you in a way that says he isn't aware there's anyone else in the room. Full points for Veela charms once again. How predictable.

Okay, so _no_, two won't be playing this game tonight, for your date doesn't sport a working brain at the moment. Hermione can play by herself.

You get the impression this is going to be a very long night.

When dinner is over, the champions are prompted for the first dance. You move to stand by Mr. Davies at the center of the dance floor, then grasp his hand and his shoulder lightly, stiffening somewhat when he encircles your waist. He smiles, pleased, taking it as proof of how much you approve of this new closeness. You hope the look you give him is enough to convey the contrary, but his thinking process is probably too far gone to catch that.

At least he is a good dancer and can keep up with you. Teachers and other students join in and, soon, you are caught up in the rhythm and start to have a good time. The music is excellent, the dance floor is full and everyone is having fun.

Your mind has been so worked up lately that you had forgotten how much you missed letting go like this, giving in to the thrills of music, adrenaline and absolute freedom.

For a large number of songs, you can't remember about a single thing to worry. There's no Tournament, no date, no Hogwarts, no tomorrow.

The play of lights and shadows helps to set the mood. Arms, legs, bodies, heads and strands of hair arranged in all types of hairdos swing around you in a coordinated frenzy. A few students are overly enthusiastic, but it's quite welcome for this one night. Some of your friends and their dates come to be near you and soon you're all dancing and laughing together.

The English and Bulgarian students have a different dancing style from your own and it's entertaining to watch. You carelessly let your eyes roam around the misty and dimly lit Hall, looking at everything and nothing in particular.

That is, until the sight of Hermione dancing nearby floods your vision. You always wondered what it meant to feel enraptured. This must be it. Your eyes further lock on her figure and your own motions slow down.

The brunette sways with ease, bending and twirling her body at the mercy of the ongoing fast pace. Your lips curl up in a soft smile and you allow yourself to enjoy the view. She's striking, charming and captivating. You could stay like this and watch her all night long.

For once, it's refreshing to see her so absorbed in something that doesn't involve books or learning spells. She knows how to have fun, after all. You notice she is completely lost in the moment and in the music, enduring Viktor's appalling dancing skills with patience and an enchanting smile. It is sweet to bear witness to this unusual side of her.

Oh, how you wish things were different. Could this twisting pang in your stomach be jealousy, that feeling that some of your friends tried so many times to explain to you?

Curiosity tempts you to watch closely the interaction between them. The large boy is obviously nice to her. He has eyes for no one else and he makes her laugh. She, on the other hand, has the blissful expression of one that is having the time of her life. Her body language speaks of confidence and elation, no anxiety in the least.

And there goes your good mood.

Suddenly feeling flustered, it looks like a good moment to take a break. You choose to sit away from the dance floor to rest. Your friends seem to find it's a good idea as well and come to stay next to you. All of your dates volunteer to get drinks and the girls strike up a conversation, but you barely participate, staying focused on the music and lightly bobbing your head in sync with the beat.

The boys return soon with drinks that are both refreshing and delicious. The light chatting and laughter help you feel better, and there's the bonus that the presence of your friends and their dates counters Mr. Davies' awkward daze.

You're about to cheerfully return to the dance floor, when loud voices reach your ears and you notice the noise is growing louder by the minute. It carries away through the Hall and it's so bothersome that you start to search for the source of the trouble. When you do find it, your jaw mildly drops in disbelief and your eyebrows get lost in your hairline.

Ronald and Hermione are in the middle of a shouting contest, gesturing wildly, while Harry is speechless, looking from one of his friends to the other, not knowing what to do. Through narrowed eyes, you watch as the scene unfolds.

Hermione seems ready to burst in tears and Ronald is going very red in the face. From the look (and sound) of things, the discussion is quickly escalating from bad to ugly. A small crowd gathers around them, appreciating the new type of entertainment, though all too careful to stay at a safe distance from the commotion. You wonder where Mr. Krum can be other than by her side, putting a stop at this nonsense.

You sigh and consider whether or not to interfere in this. It's not your place, but you can't just lie back and watch him treat her like that. Standing up quickly, your chair makes a crude and loud noise as it scrapes against the floor. Hermione distinctly turns her face and sees you. She bites her lower lip and casts a sad look in your direction. The brunette promptly says something loud about 'Vicky' to Ronald, then stands and rushes away, disappearing into the crowd.

'_Vicky_', hmm? It's not hard to guess what this was all about.

Without enthusiasm, you watch as the Krum boy finally shows up, talks to Harry and Ronald, and goes straight to the dance floor in the same direction the brunette has moved. He should be able to find her.

Excusing yourself from your friends' company, you then ask Mr. Davies for another round of drinks and promise to return soon. It might not be a very smooth approach, but you also follow into the crowd, trying to make sure Hermione is alright.

You make your way through the dance floor a couple of times, looking for the couple, but they're nowhere to be found. Perhaps they've gone outside, so you take a step back into the Entrance Hall, checking the swaying crowd one last time. You release a loud sigh and ruffle your hair wildly in frustration, mumbling a few harsh words in French to the wind.

Whirling around to step further away from the dance floor and out to the grounds, you stop dead in your tracks. There she is, leaning on the open oak doors that lead outside, looking at you with that pair of intent brown eyes. You gaze in silence at the gorgeous brunette standing so close to you. The very one you've missed for quite a while.

Wearing a blank face, you half-turn your body towards the Great Hall and ask her, "I do not mean to disturb, Mademoiselle. Should I go away?"

"No, it's alright, Fleur. Don't go when you've just arrived," Hermione states in a weak voice, very effective at making you stand still. "There's enough room for both of us."

You take your time appraising your surroundings while trying to calm yourself down, as if metering the place to confirm there really is enough space to accommodate the two of you. At the end of your musings, you're at ease and feel ready to fully turn to her.

She barely moves. Shimmering moonlight frames her figure and the silvery rays set off her flawless skin. A gentle breeze plays with her tamed hair strands and makes her robes flutter. There's a tenderness in her eyes that you'd never seen before and you wonder if it has anything to do with the tears she must have shed. The nervous habit of biting her lower lip shows every now and then, making it look darker and a little swollen. In your eyes, she's never looked more beautiful.

Steeling your resolve, you take a few confident steps towards her and stop at a short distance, in silence. You make it clear that you're giving her your complete attention, though you can't completely hold back the heaviness in your own stare. You think about all the hurt, loneliness and bothers of late. About how you've missed her presence, the witty humor and the smile you haven't seen in a long time. You wish you knew how she feels about any of that.

Frowning slightly, you finally breach the silence, "Why are you alone now? Mr. Krum went after you. Did 'e not find you?"

She nods curtly, "He did. A moment ago he went to get us more drinks. Don't worry. He'll be back soon."

Though her voice is steady, she looks too wistful and frail. Something is out of place. You can't shake the feeling that she's a breath away from crumbling down. "Very well. I shall stay wiz you until 'e returns."

She nods and, for a few minutes that feel like hours, she remains silent, not missing a single detail in your features. When the brunette finally locks her eyes on yours, something tells you she's letting her soul pour through that stare. Barely realizing it, you move closer and frown again, matching the intensity of her gaze.

And right before your eyes, a slow change starts to take place. You can tell she's struggling with inner emotions. Her lips become tightly pursed and her breaths are coming out all ragged and irregularly. The lower rim of her eyes begins to tremble and tears well up. At last, she chokes a sob and the dam breaks down, letting misery leak from her like there's nothing else inside.

Your feet quickly take action on their own, apparently disconnected from your stunned brain, and the gap between you disappears. Your arms waste no time to find their way around her, bringing her close and holding her together.

It moves you beyond words or reason to see the brunette so vulnerable. You never thought she, of all people, would allow herself to fall apart like this in front of you.

Probably taken by surprise, she doesn't know what to do at first, only resting her head on your shoulder and letting heartfelt tears wash away her pains. You keep her steady and run your hands lightly over her back in soothing motions. After a little while, she snuggles closer, bringing her face near your neck and almost hiding under your chin. Her arms settle around you and with a slight hesitation, her hands shyly land on the middle of your back.

You stay like that until she calms down enough to breathe evenly and you no longer feel warm tears trickling against your skin. Giving her a quick peck on the top of her head, you are about to pull away, when she tightens her hold around your waist and whispers in a voice so low that you almost can't hear it, "Why are you nice to me?"

The emotional timbre makes you smile, though she doesn't see it, and you reply softly, "You looked like you needed some comfort. Zis is not much, but it is something I can do for you."

She quickly cuts in, "No, not now. I mean, not only now. You've always been nice to me. Why is that? Why do you care?"

You rack your brain cells for an answer that will do for her. Sometimes, simple and honest is the best approach. "I like you."

She withdraws a little to look up at you and determine the meaning of your words. You can tell she's about to fire away all the twenty or more questions popping in that curious mind. You stop her at once with the brief touch of a couple of digits over her lips. "I know you like long answers and tons of questions, Mademoiselle, but I 'ave no uzzer way to phrase what I said. Zere is no need to complicate zings now. I just like you. Zat should do for you, non?"

After a short pause, she nods and whispers, "Thank you."

Risking your sanity, you raise your right hand and tuck a rebellious curl behind her left ear, letting your thumb run softly along her jawline until it reaches her chin. The feel of her skin sends tingles up your arm. You lift her face slightly, letting the night beams bathe her features. Fixing your gaze on her cheeks, you gently stroke away the fading tracks of fresh tears with your thumbs. Once it's done, you're now cradling her face carefully with both of your hands, keeping it almost leveled with yours. Her hands glide forward to your waist and stay still.

Your eyes slowly take in every detail of her face and she seems to do the same to you, stopping at your lips a few times. She finally gets lost looking into your eyes and you let the stare linger. Smiling inwardly, you lean in, little by little, bringing your face a breath away from hers.

The reaction is instantaneous. Her eyes widen, she inhales audibly and hands tighten on your waistline. You recognize panic when you see it and you wouldn't want to push her, but a little innocent fun can do no harm. You sneak a little closer, shut your eyes and rub the tip of your nose playfully against hers a few times, then slowly pull away to see relief, confusion and a dash of disappointment washing over her. All mixed up in a mess of uncontained emotions.

Interesting. So you were not completely wrong about her.

It's your turn to see her blushing a deep shade of red. You take a step back and your hands drop by your sides, immediately missing the quality of that unique contact.

Giving her time to compose herself, you start a conversation on neutral grounds, "No more tears... Zat is good. You look very elegant tonight, Mademoiselle. It would not do to let tears spoil zat." With a dose of concern, you add on, "Do you want to talk about what caused zis?"

She shakes her head vehemently and her voice trembles a little, "I'm sorry, but I just can't right now."

Her sincerity is visible. "I understand. Are you alright?"

She frowns and looks at the floor, "I should explain what you saw back there, in the Hall."

The change of subject doesn't go unnoticed to you, but that particular situation doesn't merit much importance anymore. "Non, zere is no need for zat. Your friend should 'ave asked you to ze Ball if 'e could not deal wiz seeing you wiz Mr. Krum. 'Is jealousy is not my business. Zat is something for ze two of you to settle. I am only worried about you, Mademoiselle. So I ask again... Are you alright now?

She smiles, but it doesn't stretch fully as it should. "I think I'll survive."

You close your eyes briefly and shake your head, "Zat did not sound very convincing."

Her face is blank and she zones out for a couple of minutes. You'd give anything to know what is going on in that mind of hers. "I'll fix it later with him, like you said. How about you? And your date?"

You shrug, not hiding the apathy you feel about this, "I zink I will live as well."

Her eyes narrow and she gives you an appraising look, "You're not having fun at all, are you?"

You manage a lopsided smile, "I take what I can, Mademoiselle. Zere were some good moments. Ze night is not a complete loss."

She then surprises you, reaching out to slide a hand down your forearm. The brunette grasps your right hand and gives it a light squeeze. Her eyes falter briefly, but she soon looks deep into your own, "Fleur, what about your other option?" She makes a brief pause, and then sheds her hesitation, "Did your girl come?"

Unable to take your eyes off her, you open and close your mouth a few times, in a sequence of failed attempts to stop this weird silence from becoming more annoying. Her curious stare bores into your eyes, trying to pierce any barriers and reach the answer hiding within.

You're suddenly too nervous and self-conscious for your own comfort. Should you throw caution to the wind and just tell her how you feel?

You swallow loudly and try to keep your breathing in check. In a crazy rhythm, your heart starts to do backflips at the base of your throat. Butterflies threaten to fly away with your insides.

You search her eyes for something - anything - that tells you she's on the same page. A single small spark of recognition will do the trick.

And you realize it's not as it should be. She's still very unsure, scared and mostly oblivious to how you respond to her mere presence. It's not time for this.

"She... is not my girl," you whisper hoarsely.

Her face seems to darken a little. While you're trying to gauge her reactions, the deep voice of Viktor Krum resonates in the Entrance Hall. He's right on cue, blasting to smithereens the better part of your night. "Herm-own-ninny, I haff drinks."

The one good thing is that this doesn't break your eye contact, nor does she tear her hand from yours.

He comes closer and addresses you, "Flurr, hau are you? I am thinking you vant a drink as vell?"

It's not possible to go on ignoring him anymore. Both of you are already stomping on the fine line between respect and impoliteness as it is. Sighing, you slide your hand out of her grip, step away and look at him, greeting him with a small smile. And here enters your own date, beaming and bringing a drink to your hands.

After proper introductions are made, Mr. Davies invites you to go for a walk outside to check the decorations. You agree all too willingly for a chance to get away from the rather awkward situation.

As you're moving through the doors, Hermione ventures, "Fleur?"

You promptly retort, "Oui, Mademoiselle?"

She flashes a challenging smirk your way, "You never told me... How did you scare away Peeves?"

"Ze poltergeist?" She's asking you about Peeves now? You almost chuckle. Hermione is one curious witch. "We 'ad a... hmmm... a misunderstanding after classes. It is a story for anuzzer time and place, non?"

In a playful tone, she continues, "Definitely. I'll want to hear about that."

You bow your head a little, smile and leave.

The change of scenery is amusing. The rose garden offers a delicate scent and the fairy lights remind you of Beauxbatons. Faint music reaches out from the Hall.

As you pace slowly, you try to listen to your date's comments on the settings made especially for the Yule Ball, but it's a lost cause. Your mind has remained at the Entrance Hall, replaying endlessly those past minutes. You sigh contentedly. She's gone back to a more comfortable and carefree behavior around you.

Distracted as you are, Mr. Davies seems to find it is a good moment to pull you closer and sneak behind a tall set of rosebushes. It takes you a couple of seconds to realize you're standing still and, after a few blinks, you notice with widening eyes that he is leaning in to try and kiss you. He wraps strong arms around your waist and you fiercely bend away from his grasp and his lips. Is he kidding you?

Where did he come up with the idea that you were in the mood for this? At all?

Madame Maxime yells loudly nearby at someone you can't see and it startles you both so much that you lose balance and topple to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Rolling over, he finally lets you go.

In a burst of flaming fury that you don't even try to contain, you stand up, shake the dust that clings to your robes and pull out your wand. He comes after you and, clearly not sensing the danger, makes to move in to grope you. Too bad for him you've had enough. His befuddled brain can't possibly keep up with the speed of your non-verbal spell and he is thrust backwards loudly, crashing against another rosebush, unconscious as he could be. Maybe later he'll find some of his senses.

A pounding sensation at the back of your skull announces an impending headache. Stress is finally taking a toll on you. You're ready to call it a night and to return to the warmth of your bed. Striding stealthily, it seems to be easy to avoid meeting anyone else, until you reach a small clearing close to the water fountain.

And that's when your limits are stretched beyond thin. Perhaps beyond repair.

Time simply stops and you lose feeling on your limbs.

Without any forewarning, the scene you've feared all through the night materializes right in front of you. Unwillingly, you've just walked in on Viktor Krum and Hermione Granger kissing under the moonlight.

How ironic. French kissing.

This is something you won't forget anytime soon, but you close your eyes just the same, trying to stop the biting image from permanently etching into your brain. A stinging urgency screams in your head to leave quickly. Of all things, you don't want to be caught staring at an intimate moment like this.

You step back out of the clearing as silently as possible. One of your feet lands on unsteady ground and you stagger, almost falling backwards. You barely regain balance and a muffled growl makes you turn around, only to come face to face with a very angered Fierce-girl. She looks from the scene at the clearing straight into your eyes, pure loathing bubbling out of her every pore.

_Seriously_, what is this girl's problem? Shaking your head at her, you lift open hands at your sides in a clear demonstration that you mean no trouble or, at the very least, begging for some sort of a truce.

Not expecting any response, you huff and walk past her, re-routing to your carriage. You want nothing more now than to unleash your frustrations in the safety of your room.

In all honestly, there's only so much you can take in one night.

Once you're finally alone, completely alone, you take a long bath to calm down, put on your favorite nightgown and lie awake on your bed, curled up with your pillow.

There's no way you'll be able to fall asleep soon and you can't stop yourself from overthinking about the night again. At least it doesn't last long, though, since that headache is now hammering awfully against your skull and ends up hindering any ability to think.

Humans and their fleeting relationships.

Of one thing you're absolutely certain.

If it wasn't for the magical contract keeping your name bidden to the Tournament, you'd be incredibly tempted to pack your things and go home right about _now_.

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><p>TBC<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Another chapter up, at last. It took me long enough, I know, but there's quite a bit going on in life. Good news is next chapter won't take that long. Thank you for reading and for any comments or suggestions you may want to add.

* * *

><p>Chapter 4.<p>

After the Yule Ball, the holidays slowly drag and you try to use well the opportunity to relax and rest. The grounds are now covered in a thick blanket of white snow and many of the students enjoy their free time sled riding and taking photos all over the place. It has become irresistible to linger outside, watching some of the playful snowball fights going around.

The aftermath of the Yule Ball is rather obvious, since plenty of new couples now wander hand in hand and it is quite romantic to observe.

You snort out loud as you remember the day after the Ball, when Mr. Davies was waiting for you at the Great Hall and tried to put his arm around your shoulders possessively. It is a good thing that your mother taught you grace and poise, for you used all of it to break free from his embrace, turn around with an almighty flip of your hair and walk away, head held high. You never needed to say a single word. And he certainly didn't come looking for you again.

Among the couples that did thrive after the Ball, however, Hermione and Viktor make up the one that stands out the most, since his disapproving fan club awkwardly shadows them wherever they go. Ronald doesn't know how to contain his displeasure when they come in sight.

You try to play indifferent and polite, even when they wave their hands at you as they pass you by or on the few times when they stop to chat lightly. You dislike these moments the most, since you have to endure talking to them as he stands behind her, embracing her waist or planting a hand on her shoulder. It's definitely not the best part of your days, but at least this you can handle.

What you can't and don't want to handle is meeting Hermione alone. For reasons beyond you, she makes a few attempts to find you all alone over the days, either as you walk through the corridors or when you leave the Great Hall after meals. However, you never remain too long in a single place for her to find you and you always have at least one trick up your sleeve to avoid her in the corridors. This allows you to stay one step ahead of her every time.

Can't she see that you want some distance?

With all that's happened, it seems best to avoid any chance confrontations. The Ball has taught you enough. You're not in the mood for a deeper mess.

The upside of this tricky state of affairs is that you're quickly turning out to be quite the expert on this school. There must be few places left for you to unravel. You're confident that you know every corridor, statue, bathroom, secret passage, portrait, suit of armour, classroom, stairway, entry to common rooms and the best ways to move around from one place to the other. Even the extensive grounds are becoming familiar, now that you have a large amount of free time to go anywhere at will. In your exploring vibe, you soon find nice secluded places to read, think and practice spells.

Your friends notice that you stay alone sometimes and they come up with every possible excuse to constantly gravitate around you and keep you company. You appreciate their intentions and stick with them mostly, but there are moments when you just tell them to go have fun while you need time by yourself. Luckily, they assume it's about preparing for the Tournament and leave you be.

By the time Tuesday arrives (has it really been only four days since the Ball?), you're already through with all of the homework for the holidays and you've studied enough to stay ahead of all of the classes scheduled until April.

You miss your family and home, spending a good deal of time now rereading their letters, watching photos and writing back with your news. At last, you remember one of your older hobbies and ask them to send you the sketchbook you were so keen to use until this term started. Too bad you'll have to patiently wait for your owl to bring it all the way from France. You're in bad need for something to do right _now_.

For the first time in your life, you're almost praying that term starts again as soon as possible. The old routine and the return of the younger students seem to be treats that your senses long for.

Unfortunately, there's still more than half a week to go before classes start over again and you're silently counting the hours. After all, rearranging your wardrobe, cleaning your room, polishing your wand and going for long walks on this freezing weather lose a bit of their appeal once you've done and redone them over ten times in less than two days.

Around Friday, you've reached such a purified state of absolute _boredom_ that your tolerance levels are finally overthrown. You cave in and decide to risk a lightning-fast escapade to the library for more books. It's not a smart move, but you give up on stealth in the hopes that speed will get you safely to the library and back.

You choose warm and comfortable clothes that will allow you to walk easily. Leaving the carriage, you move in a fast and determined pace, staying alert to everything and everyone in sight. You're constantly watching over your shoulders and you take an unusually long route to get to the library. As you come closer to your goal, you mentally revise the small list of tomes you'd like to retrieve. Perhaps they'll all be available for loan.

You make it to the doors without any surprises and start to feel more confident, already smiling at your achievement. As soon as you cross the threshold you realize your mistake, though, freezing on the spot as _those_ chocolate orbs immediately find you there. With a roll of your eyes, you mentally scold yourself and leave at once, hearing in the far distance the loud 'thud' of a heavy book being hastily closed.

Fleeing, you quickly carve your way through nearby corridors and stairways, ending up on the sixth floor. If you can just reach the grand staircase, you'll be back to your room in no time. You stare behind you and are satisfied to see no one. As you return your attention ahead, you're forced to duck and jump aside. Two large vases crash right where you'd been and a familiar cackling echoes against the walls.

You frown and pull out your wand at once, exasperated, "Peeves, not now!"

The poltergeist hovers upside down with a wide smile and seems pleased at his accomplished mayhem. Mr. Filch comes running after him, yelling at the top of his lungs, "PEEVES! I'll have your _head_ for this, you'll see."

Peeves gives you an evil grin and bids his farewell with a loud raspberry, disappearing around a corner. The caretaker hesitates looking at the broken vases, then keeps on running past you and does a sharp left, trying to outsmart the mischievous spirit.

You turn your attention back to the corridor, ready to go your way. This distraction just cost you a couple of precious minutes.

A few steps forward are followed by harsh grinding noises coming from under your shoes. Surprised, you stop and notice the presence of shards and pieces of porcelain spread throughout almost the entire length of the passageway ahead of you.

This makes you frown. Anyone showing up next might skid or get hurt. You're about to do something about the mess when you hear the soft patter of feet behind you.

It isn't hard to guess who would be the one to tail you this far. You sigh and brace yourself. Not looking at the new arrival, you point your wand at the scattered parts and chips, wording the spell to put them back together. Another wand is quickly pulled near you and soon you listen to the same spell being performed at the other side of the corridor. You work together, back to back, until the last vase is finally sorted.

Countless 'Reparo' spells later, a long line of restored vases is now sitting along the corridor. It'll be the caretaker's or the house-elves' job to relocate them.

Time to acknowledge your companion.

You stow your wand, take a deep breath and turn to her, keeping your voice and curiosity in check. It's hard not to notice the small dark rings under her eyes and how she doesn't look as healthy as she should.

She seems pleased to hold your undivided attention, "Fleur, I finally found you. I've been trying to talk to you for days."

With a blank expression and an edgy tone, you vent out a small part of what goes on in your mind, "Oui, I noticed you 'ave been nearly stalking me, Mademoiselle, though I cannot find a reason for zat. I must 'ave made it quite clear by now zat I do not want to talk to you. What is it zat you need to tell me so much?"

Hermione promptly protests in a weak voice, "I don't get it. Why are you acting this weird? I understand why you were avoiding me after that night at the library. I really do. But now? Why are you avoiding me all over again after the Yule Ball?"

Scanning her features with a suspicious glare, you're trying to make up your mind on whether she's being evasive or just _that_ clueless. "I am sure you can figure things out by yourself. I 'ave no plans to stay 'ere and amuse you."

Her jaw hangs open, "Huh?"

You whirl and leave, ruffling your hair impatiently, but she quickly catches up and stops in front of you, forcing you to halt as well to prevent a collision.

She looks affronted, "What was _that_ supposed to mean?"

It all feels like a game you've played too many times with her. So many times that it became predictable and boring, "Zink a little and you will find out in time. Now, if zat is all, I need to go."

Her features soften somewhat, "Don't go. Just... don't do that. I miss you. Most of all, I miss being comfortable around you. How else do I have to say it for you to understand?" She sighs and her voice becomes a whisper, "You were great at the Ball, Fleur. I cracked down to bits and you were there for me. After that night, I thought things had turned out better with us and now we're back to this... this awkwardness. How can you change so much overnight and be so unreasonable all week long?"

A sudden irritation flares inside you and it shows on your voice, "Are you really _zat_ blind? And insensitive? Or do you fancy playing around wiz ze feelings of uzzers?"

Your emotional control is breaking and you can feel the anger building up. It's a good moment to leave before you do something you'll regret. As you're about to go around her and try to walk away again, she grasps your wrist firmly. "You're mad at me. I get that. Will you tell me why so I can have a chance at repairing things between us? Come on, Fleur."

Slowly pulling your arm free, you take a few steps away from her and end up close to a window overlooking the lake. A soft breeze drifts in and you can feel the refreshing waft cooling your skin. You make an attempt to calm down and repeat in a whisper something you had told her at the Ball, a small reminder of your current situation, more to yourself than to her, "She... is not my girl." Hermione inhales briskly, but you don't elaborate.

Your gaze returns to her and you frown at the sheer reality of things, "I am not mad at you. I 'ave no right to expect or demand anything from you. It just... 'urts."

Shaking your head, you distract your eyes with the patterns of the stones on the floor and continue, "Indulge me, Mademoiselle, if you do not mind. At which part of ze Ball did you 'ave more fun? Which were ze best moments of ze night for you?"

She shrugs and replies dismissively, "There were a few."

"Can you tell me which one stood above ze uzzers?" You ask patiently.

Crossing her arms, she retorts with defiance, "Why should I tell you, when you don't share a thing about yourself? Fleur, you didn't even answer me a straight question during the Ball."

This surprises you, "Of course I did."

She shakes her head confidently, "No, you didn't. I asked you about the girl you liked and you nearly froze. And saying she is not your girl was not an answer. It was an excuse not to answer."

So she did notice. You cock an eyebrow and concede, "Fair enough. You 'ave a good point, so I will answer your question... Yes, ze girl I like went to ze Ball. She went wiz a date, zey 'ad fun and danced most of ze night. 'E was a good company to 'er and it must 'ave worked very well, since zey seem to be going steady now."

Her eyes bore into yours, analyzing you closely, "So you didn't get to be with her at all..."

You look at her for a long moment. Once again, evasive or clueless?

Clasping your hands together behind your back, you casually take a few steps closer to her as you speak. "Actually, I cannot complain. I 'ad more of 'er zan I could 'ave 'oped. For a little while, a very short while, I 'ad 'er all to myself."

She still looks intensely at you, but now she gives nonchalance a try, "That's great, isn't it? Are you finally going to tell me who she is?"

Tilting your head, you don't stop the amusement that spreads across your features, "Do I 'ave to? I thought you would probably 'ave made ze right guess by now."

Her eyes narrow a little, deep in thought. Her voice is but a whisper, "Really?"

You nod and hum an assurance, "Mm-hmmm."

She suddenly doesn't look so comfortable, "Do you think she likes you back?"

What a charming question. A small smug smile flickers on your lips and she scowls as soon as she sees it, "She feels... something, but apparently she does not know what to do about it." Thinking further, your eyebrows suddenly scrunch into a frown, "Or maybe she prefers not to do anything at all."

You move closer to her, now about ready to pierce her comfort zone. Gazes remain locked and she is holding her ground.

All pretenses at nonchalance are dropped. She looks at the thinning distance between you and hisses with as much annoyance and skepticism as she can muster, "How can you be so sure that she has any feelings for you?"

You play along with her challenge and answer confidently, "I 'ave a couple of ways to know zat. One of zem is reliable and quite accurate. Ze uzzer... well, ze uzzer is absolutely foolproof."

Hermione gives you a very disbelieving look. You instantly chuckle, aggravating her mood.

She fiercely scowls now, "There is no accurate or foolproof method to assess feelings, Fleur. That's absurd."

It seems you'll have to make a point here. If she is out to play the coy and stoic one, it's up to you to make it a little hard for her. "I can prove you wrong, 'Ermione."

You glance sideways at the full length of the corridor, from an end to the other. It's still deserted and quiet, except for both of you, "And I zink zis is a perfect opportunity to demonstrate. Even you may find it interesting."

She looks surprised at you, "What do you have in mind?"

For a few moments you pretend to consider the question, and then you deadpan, "To use one of ze methods to prove my argument."

Her eyes don't leave yours and she remains still and silent, curiously waiting to see what you're about to do.

Which is nothing, for the time being. You only stare back, hotly, and let time pass until the pause stretches so much that she realizes you have no intent to go anywhere, least of all to seek anyone else.

After all,'_your girl_' is already here. Her eyes start to widen. Yours narrow a bit. It took her long enough to be sure, but she's finally caught on to reality and made no attempt to get out of this situation or flee, at least yet.

Steadily, you step closer until you're a foot away from the brunette, "Now zat we understand each uzzer, I can begin. Or do you 'ave somewhere else to be?"

She must be too curious or too stunned, for she just stands there, looking a bit out of place.

You take her silence as a cue to start. In a serious tone, the words flow easily from you, "As you must already know, anyone can learn to set their faces wiz fake emotions. Even a child does zat. But almost no one is ready to conceal ze reactions of ze 'uman body. Many simple signs give away what truly goes on inside."

You slowly move in and she steps away for the first time, but this slow dance of yours ends shortly when her back hits the wall and she can only stay still. Reducing the distance between your bodies, you settle your hands against the wall, at each of her sides, locking her in place. You bring your face closer to hers and chime in a husky tone, "Does zis ring a bell?"

Her breathing hitches. She nods only once. Anxiety and panic all over again, but she still makes no move to leave.

Leaning in and sideways, you gingerly graze your cheek against hers on your way to her neck. The brief touch has both of you shuddering instantly.

"Ze reactions already began..." You inhale her scent deeply and breathe out on her skin. "Intense body 'eat..." A muffled whimper escapes her lips. You hover upwards to her ear, whispering slowly, "Ripples and ripples of goose bumps..."

A few unruly curls move over her shoulder and you tuck them gently behind her ear. Reaching a little further, you let the tips of your fingers massage her scalp in circular motions and she closes her eyes, basking in the moment. Your hand then trails down her neck to her collarbone in a tender and slow caress, "A racing pulse..."

Conveniently, you never mention the volcano erupting inside you or the acrobatic state of your stomach. You're losing control faster than you'd anticipated to be possible. Your charms are itching to break free from your trained grasp.

In a temporary daze, you don't find it in you to resist temptation completely and your lips meet the base of her beautiful neck, leaving warm feathery kisses up to her jawline. Your senses are so highly strung on her that you don't miss the scarcely visible pink blush setting her skin alight.

"Ragged breaths..." You don't even know if you're talking about her or yourself now. The closeness, the heat, that scent, the fleeting feel of her delicate skin, it's all intoxicating, quickly driving you to test the edge of your restraints.

For the very first time, you feel everything to be so real, every small detail bearing solid evidence that it is really happening.

No dream can compare to this.

Nearly panting, you straighten your back to face her again, quickly meeting deep eyes that search yours. You can't make your voice go beyond a whisper, "Your eyes are darker, almost black." You're very close to each other, every heated breath hitting the other's skin.

Memorizing as much of her as you can from such a short distance, you fix your gaze on her lips. She must have been biting the lower one, since it now looks a very dark shade of red and a little glossy. You take your time softly running your thumb a few times over it. Now she's the one looking a little dazed.

This is something you want so much that your resolve is in knots. The battle of wills inside you is clouding your mind. You're having trouble keeping your hands away from her, but that would be taking it too far. You remind yourself that this is only an experiment, a series of probing actions to get some expected reactions from her.

A mockery of what could be if only she played her part willingly as well, if it were both of you enjoying the moment to the fullest. You hesitate a little, licking your own lips. She closes her eyes and holds her breath.

Something seems off, but you take the plunge anyway... and cease a hair away from making contact, as your brain comes to a screeching halt.

"No," you grumble as you pull away slowly, shaking your head.

Gaining some sense of control, you realize why this is off. You almost can't believe it. From the moment you stepped closer to rise to her challenge, she hasn't made a single move of her own. Not to be comfortable, not to get away from you, not to come closer, not to touch you. She's still just standing there, a passive witness, avoiding to commit to what could happen.

Her eyes snap open and she can't conceal her surprise. Or disappointment.

You finally speak, sadness seeping into your voice, "Je suis désolée. I got carried away trying to prove I was right. But zis... zis would be wrong. A kiss like zat should be wanted and shared. Not imposed. Not stolen away. It is time to end ze test. I believe I already proved my point. And I zink you now know which was ze best part of ze Ball for me."

In a low and soft tone you try to bridge the growing gap between you and find some answers, "Please, be 'onest. Do I scare you?"

Frowning, she shakes her head lightly.

"Do you regret ever meeting me?"

A little more head shaking.

You decide to tease a bit to break down the heavy atmosphere, "Zat is quite _articulate_ for you, 'Ermione. Will all my uzzer questions receive similar answers?"

No movement at all. Still silence. This is getting worse.

"You do realize zat zings between us, anything at all, are up to you, non?"

Silence.

Creepy silence.

You sigh. "Enough wiz ze silence, please. At least tell me, is zis something you do not want? Is zat it?"

She bites her lower lip. You're hanging on that very answer and she seems to be thinking hard about it.

Silence.

More silence.

Unbearable silence.

You can't stand not knowing what she's thinking. It's driving you mad.

Stiffly, you take a few steps away from her, your gaze painfully locked on her lips as the distance between you grows, bit by bit. Your voice gains an icy sharpness, "Zis is most amusing. You do not push me away or try to leave, neither do you come closer or participate, but I can see zat you want zis to 'appen as much as I do. You live a contradiction. Zis must 'urt you in some way, just as it does me to see you struggle. What are you waiting for, 'Ermione? _What _is holding you back? Or are you really expecting zat I force myself upon you?"

She goes from dreamy-eyed to confused to scowling in milliseconds, "You know nearly _nothing_ about me or what I think, what I want or what I go through. We've barely spent a couple of hours together since we met and here you are, passing judgment on how you expect me to behave. You have no right to treat me like that."

Your throat feels raw and dry. A slow rage begins to build and your smoldering tone doesn't conceal it at all, "I 'ave _every_ right to talk to you like zat because ze," you make air quotes with your fingers, "'couple of hours together' were enough to get us as far as almost kissing. _Twice_." Your mood goes sour quickly, "All zat just 'appened tells me zat you are not as indifferent to me as you zink you are. Or as you try to show. And I am sure zat I am right. You are 'uman. I am Veela. You do not 'ave ze ability to 'ide emotions from me. Zat is my uzzer, foolproof method."

Hermione narrows her eyes and her voice grows louder as her temper rises, "You were psycho... I mean, Veela..." She takes a deep breath and then bursts, "_Whatever_-analyzing me?"

She has to understand this, so you match her voice, pitch for pitch, "Zis was only an experiment. I never consciously used my charms on you. Not to do anything to you, not to get anything from you. But zis was not ze first time we came to be so close when your feelings for me were zat strong. And it lasted a lot longer zan ze first time. Under zose conditions, I can sense what you are feeling as clearly as I was reading a book. It does not matter if I 'ave no intent to use zat perception. I cannot stop it."

She flinches and avoids looking at you. Her voice becomes a thick growl with a dangerous edge, "So you're invading my privacy and reading my mind?"

Her accusations are bitter and you don't back down, but you lower you voice to more regular levels, "Non, of course not. I do not break into your mind. I can only sense emotions and it 'appens under very specific conditions. " You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, making an inhuman effort to still your outburst, "Look, I am aware zat we 'ave barely talked to each uzzer and zere never was a chance for us to get acquainted properly, but I wish I knew what is really going on in your mind, at ze very least to understand you better."

Shaking her head, she looks disappointed at you, "First you say you like me and now you want to know me better. But with what you've just told me, how am I supposed to trust you, Fleur? It never made any sense why you wanted to get along with me. Don't you see? This isn't something that usually happens to me and now I realize you've been playing around with me all along. How dare you do that?"

Frowning, you reply with a hint of annoyance, "I was not playing around with you. Only proving my point in a way zat you would not be able to deny it. All zose reactions were ze same zat I saw at ze Ball. And for some reason, you are wiz Mr. Krum. It does not fit."

She calms down a little, but remains uncertain, "I don't think you'd understand."

You feel tired, but you try to keep your voice in a steady and soothing tone, "Try me. Zings cannot get worse zen zey are right now."

The brunette answers curtly, "Yes, they can. At least for me." Her hands close in tight fists and she starts to pace up and down, mumbling words you can't hear properly. She finally stops in her tracks, throws her hands out in despair and turns to face you, "I don't get it. How can you have the ability to confuse me like this? Why are you messing with me so much?"

You silently watch her for a while. Taking your time, you lean back on the wall, crossing your arms in front of you. In a calm tone, you reply cautiously, "You must 'ave realized zat I am doing _nothing_ to you. I noticed your discomfort after ze library and I stayed as distant as I could from you. I 'ave been doing ze same since ze Ball. We are only talking now because you came looking for me."

She only stares back, regarding you in silence, with empty eyes and a blank expression. Her lower lip is being abused again. Hard, you can tell.

You take steps towards her and she quickly raises her hands in front of her, shaking her head vigorously. You realize why she's acting like that all too easily, "Right, ze charms. I did not mean…" You trail off, step back and leave it at that. Great. Now you can't even go near her. Again.

She finally comes to terms with whatever is bothering her and starts to speak in a small but steady voice, "Fleur, I came looking for you so we could find a way to make things go back to how they were. I can't think straight now. I don't eat right. I try to sleep at night, but I only toss and turn until dawn. I'm not myself anymore and it's breaking me. I _don't_ _want_ this and it has to stop."

She doesn't want this. A small bunch of words that hold the weight of the world. Your mood deflates at once. You can't come up with an answer to that. What is there left to say?

Besides, she's asking for the impossible. Some feelings reach inside and, never asking for permission, cause unexpected effects. Sometimes even unstoppable changes. They just waltz in and everything they touch comes under a new light. Even if those feelings die out, the changes remain, permanent reminders of their existence, of what happened, of what could have happened. You can't make it stop. Neither of you can.

Her voice cracks a little and she doesn't look at you anymore, "I can't keep on going like this. It's too much, just too much. I can't stand it anymore. Don't you see? Things are all wrong and not how they should be. I'm sure it must be difficult for you as well."

She is suddenly very anxious and nervous. You can't stop staring at her.

After a brief pause, she swallows with difficulty and tries to go on, trembling a little, "Please, try to understand. I hate the way we are now. I want… normal, Fleur. I need-"

That blow feels like a slap across your face. Out of all things, this was one you never saw coming.

"Excusez-moi," you interrupt her firmly, mid-sentence, as your world comes crashing down. She gives you a strange look and stays quiet.

You're having trouble holding the mix of anger and tears that is threatening to spill forth. Your eyes narrow to slits and you stiffly straighten your back, raising your head to full height, towering over her smaller frame. With great difficulty, you manage to grind out in a strained and whispery voice that you wish could come out steadier, "Did you just call me _not normal_?"

Her eyes widen. That shocks her back from her mental confusion and she makes an attempt to speak, "Fleur, it's not l-"

You interrupt her once again. Your voice is low and sharp, barely hiding your searing outrage, "I 'ave _never_ been more insulted in my life. Zis is definitely not ze person I zought you to be."

Through the corner of your eyes you notice someone running at you, bursting in with an outstretched wand. Whoever that is, you pay them no attention.

Not restraining the anger anymore, you lash out, "If zis is such a terrible ordeal for you, please tell me, what are you doing 'ere, wasting time wiz me, when you can 'ave all ze _normal_ you want wiz someone like Mr. Krum?"

"Just _what_ is going on here?" A shrill voice makes an attempt to cut in between you, but you completely ignore it.

"What did I ever _do_ to deserve zat from you?" Retreating even more from Hermione, an icy tone filled with contempt creeps out from you don't even care where, "Zis conversation is definitely over. I suggest you make it easier on yourself, Mademoiselle, and forget I exist."

You finally turn to acknowledge the newcomer standing at a short distance and you realize it's Fierce-girl, looking from Hermione to you and back. The girl must have some sort of extrasensory perception tuned in to when Hermione and you are too close together.

Sarcastically, you whisper low enough for only Hermione to hear, "So Gryffindor courage does exist. And 'ere I was, ready to believe it was only a myth. Perhaps _she_ can give you lessons?"

Hermione glares daggers at you.

The younger girl finally settles in front of Hermione, facing you and aiming her wand squarely at your chest.

Nice. This just doesn't get old, does it?

You look at Fierce-girl and reply calmly, "You can put away your wand, Mademoiselle. Zere is nothing 'appening." Turning to Hermione, you provoke her again, "I doubt zere ever will."

Her wand remains pointed at you, though her hand quivers a little. "What is that smell?"

You snort derisively. "I 'ave uzzer places to be. Zis seems a good moment to take my leave." You pull out the SPEW badge from an inner pocket of your robes and hand it back to Hermione. "'Ere, please take zis. I 'appen to disagree wiz your present ideas. Or perhaps your concept of prejudice is biased. It might be best if you keep zis for someone completely _normal_ to use, non?"

Both of them look with surprise at the badge. It is harsh and rather cruel, but you're too hurt to think about being considerate at the moment.

"Mesdemoiselles..." As you bow your head, you quickly pull out your wand, produce a shield charm silently, and then turn your back on them and walk away. At the end of the corridor, you carelessly take down the magical barrier and go about your business.

It was not the uneventful visit to the library that you had wished it to be, but at least now it should be alright to go after those books you wanted.

You later return to your room and decide to stay mostly in the carriage until classes begin. With fresh material to read and a few more solitary activities, you'll manage to make it.

Only two more days.

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><p>TBC<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Yup, this is an 11k-word chapter. It was originally meant to be two separate chapters and the first one should have been posted last weekend, as I had intended. The plan almost worked and I humbly apologize for not being able to keep a predictable schedule. Unfortunately, any sort of control concerning my free time is out of my hands at the moment. Instead of keeping you waiting a bit more, I thought it would be best to mend the two chapters into a longer one and post it as is. Even though it's long, I hope you can find it enjoyable.

* * *

><p>Chapter 5.<p>

After a very long night and a much troubled sleep, you wake up indisposed and without the slightest desire to get out of bed. A jolting headache makes you feel like your brain is about to split right down the middle. The soreness in your back, shoulders and limbs reminds you of the number of muscles that didn't get to relax properly as they should.

You wish you could stay in bed all day and try to make up for the nearly sleepless night you just had, but your friends are already knocking on your door every now and then, calling you for breakfast. This is the last weekend before classes, so they must be planning on making the most of it. Somehow you can make out their muffled voices, complaining among them that they are waiting for you and that you have to hurry or everyone will miss the meal. They must be talking quite loudly for their voices to filter all the way from the central hall of the carriage and through your thick door.

That gets your brain in gear and you finally sit at the edge of the bed, stretch both arms above your head, lift the duvet and settle your feet on the cold floor. There's a tingling sensation and some numbness at the tips of your fingers and you open and close your hands several times to try to get rid of it, but it just doesn't go away. Weird. It's probably related to the headache.

You rub your thumbs against the other fingers, distractedly stroking them together, and start to think about the day ahead. There won't be much to do, just drag through breakfast and return to the carriage to read, possibly avoiding thoughts about yesterday. The tingling sensation becomes stronger and you push yesterday to the back of your mind.

Okay, first things first. Brush teeth, shower, dress, meet friends, walk to Great Hall. Right. You get up, straighten your bed and look out the window to check the weather outside. As expected, it's beautiful and cold, with fresh snow everywhere and a few red squirrels skipping about.

In your mind, you start to pick the many clothes to wear for the day. With the rigors of the Scottish winter, you're quite used to thinking in thick layers of clothing by now. Gabrielle sent you a new wildly-colored scarf for Christmas and she'll like to know you are wearing it. Perhaps you might even take a photo later with some of your friends to send her in your next letter.

As you close the small curtains and turn to your closet, you notice its doors are ajar and the outfit you just thought of is now neatly folded on your bed, a few feet away from you.

For a good couple of minutes you just stare at the motionless pieces of clothing arranged in a pile, and then turn to look at the closet, trying to find the explanation for what just happened. Perhaps someone barged in and is messing with you. Suspecting foul play, you walk to the door of your room and run your hands all over it. No, your door still looks solid and very much locked.

You close the closet and sit on your bed, checking to make sure this is the complete set of clothes you'd wanted. Everything matches, including the underwear. You reach out to spread them on the duvet and the tingling sensation returns, though very softly and barely there.

Shaking your head, you undress and go to the bathroom. You take care of your teeth, and then enjoy a quick steaming shower, giving your tensed shoulders some extra lathering and kneading. It's not as effective as a good massage, but this is the best you can manage right now and it works reasonably well at relaxing your muscles.

Wrapping a fluffy towel around, you step out of the shower and settle in front of the mirror. A quick spell dries your hair and you brush it to perfection until it's all tidy. Out of fun, you decide to go for something different and style it sideways and a bit curly at the tips. You have the Veela blood to thank for hair that falls orderly in place however you maneuver it.

Finally, you choose a nice perfume and sprinkle small samples on your wrists and neck. You're about to turn away from the mirror, but the smell reaches you and the effect is instantaneous. The pleasing aroma overpowers your senses at once and you become lightheaded and disoriented with the sensation. You close your eyes and your body starts to swirl unsteadily until a fast grip on the countertop and another hand propped against a wall give you some sense of vertical balance. You take small breaths and wait patiently for this to wear off. Whatever _this_ is.

What is going on today?

In small and cautious steps you walk towards your room, still a little dazed by the whiffs of perfume, when a small memory creeps through your current thoughts, demanding attention. Yesterday, as you were leaving the sixth floor, Fierce-girl accidentally asked about an... odor, was it? You wonder if there's something affecting everyone's perceptions at the school. Frowning, you make a mental note to ask about any unusual illness going around.

You lean on the doorframe between bathroom and bedroom, and then try to recall the memory correctly, but it's harder than you expected. Lots of things about yesterday feel on and off since that mind-boggling encounter with Hermione, mostly because of your misplaced emotions. You ruffle your hair in a fit of impatience and now become doubly annoyed, since you just messed up the neat hairdo you'd spent minutes to prepare. And there you go, back into the bathroom and to fix your hair again, completely letting go of your previous train of thought.

A loud knock rocks your door and you are quick to apologize loudly, speeding up to dress and leave the room.

During the stroll to the Great Hall you remain mostly silent, appreciating the scenery and the candyfloss-snow gathered in the bare branches of the trees. Gabrielle's scarf is wrapped tightly around your neck and every now and then you bury your face almost down to your ears behind it, enjoying the warmth and the soft grazing of the cloth against your skin.

Your friends giggle all the way to the castle, retelling jokes and exchanging some of the latest fresh gossip since the Ball. Moods are light and you're feeling at ease, for a change.

Reaching your destination, at last, you follow the delicious aromas into the Great Hall, noticing it's nearly empty, despite the late hour. Very few students are sitting at the tables, though breakfast is still being served. As soon as you step into the Hall, everyone in the room turns to look at you, staring and gaping for a few seconds. It's been a while since you received such an open display of recognition. The students should be less sensitive to your charms now. How unusual… Not allowing this to be a bother, you ignore them all and walk on.

At the Ravenclaw table, Cho Chang is the only one you're familiar with and she's sitting with a younger blonde girl that you haven't met yet, both chatting and nibbling at small portions of food. Their faces light up when they see you and they immediately welcome your large group to stay with them. Cho introduces her friend around and you notice that the girl, one Luna Lovegood, is quite the character. Her expression is soft and innocent, but she's an attentive observer and you're sure she wasn't sorted into Ravenclaw House because of her good looks.

Striking a conversation with the new acquaintance, she seems to enjoy talking to you and starts to tell you about the unusual and notorious articles published in her father's magazine, The Quibbler. You always liked good conspiracy theories, so you listen carefully while you eat, asking a few controversial questions to spice things up. Soon enough, there are all sorts of wild discussions going around.

Luna moves to sit in front of you and begins to tell you about some bizarre creatures that you've never heard of. You smile a little at the names of a few of the fantastic creatures and even she chuckles when you try to repeat the words and your tongue gets all tied up, in-between the correct pronunciation and your crazy accent. _Umgubular Slashkilter_ in particular has you both laughing hard as she pronounces it over and over again and you try to get it right, failing miserably every time.

Luna looks around and softly makes you a request, "The lemon rolls are delicious, Fleur. Can you please pass me the tray? It should be easy for you."

The girl gives you a peculiar look and smiles, but you pay it no mind. You're already getting used to her odd comments and how they always seem to be spot on about details that almost no one else notices. You look for the tray of lemon rolls and it's a bit farther down the table, right where there's no one else to help.

After appraising the distance, you believe you can reach it, so you bend sideways and stretch out your arm as much as you can, but you quickly discover it's the wrong tray. The one with the lemon rolls is rather far away. You half-stand to stretch further, realizing it's silly of you to do this when it would be much simpler to just summon it to you. As soon as 'Accio' crosses your mind, the tingling at your fingertips returns full force and the tray swiftly slides a full meter, landing right into your grasp.

You recoil your hand very slowly and blink a few times, looking hard at the tray. Shaking, you sit again and finally retrieve your wand from where it's been all along, buried deep in an inner pocket of your robes. You set it down on the table and blankly stare at your hand until the meaning of this dawns on you.

And then your brain performs the right connections and all that has felt unusual today falls into place. Realization leaves you temporarily stunned.

Checking around, you note no one else saw the little episode, except for Luna, who winks at you once. Timidly, you pass her the tray, not missing the fact that she's flaunting one of those mysterious smiles of hers. Looking very satisfied, she praises you, "That was most effective. Thank you!"

You stealthily wring your hands. They seem alright and the tingling is completely gone now.

Luna must have realized your uneasiness and tries to comfort you in her own way, "It's alright. Now the Blibbering Humdingers can communicate with you."

A single raised eyebrow is your response. There's no way you can understand the meaning of what the girl just said. Not that you even try to, lost as you are in your own concerns.

To surprise you further, Luna adds in a whisper, "Oh! Before I forget, that scent of yours is very nice. It really makes you stand out."

Before you can think of anything to reply to that, the sound of familiar hooting and the flap of large wings make you look up quickly. You recognize Éclair, your owl, flying in with a large and thin box, probably filled with supplies for sketching. Gabrielle's owl, Tonnerre, arrives soon afterwards with a smaller package. After you feed them some treats, they take off to the Owlery for a much needed rest.

You're glad the boxes give you a good reason to return to your room, so you pick them up and excuse yourself. In a quick stroll, you soon cross the doors of the castle and find many students at the courtyard, either idly chatting in small groups or playing cards, clearly having fun. You stop shortly to wave at the few you've already met.

To the left you see Hermione sitting on a bench, reading, while Harry and Ronald are preparing a pile of snowballs. The brunette looks up from her book and scans the area, soon noticing your presence.

Something is very different about her today. Her eyes must now be gifted with some sort of magnetic field that works specifically on you and is designed to reel you in right from the core. All you want to do is change the direction of your stride and go to her. A cold shiver runs down your spine and the tingling at your fingers becomes so strong that you're ready to believe there must be electric currents building up and about to bolt away from their tips.

You're all too aware of your inner battle to keep these intensified charms under control and it's taking a lot more than usual to bring them under a tight leash.

Your brand new pheromones, on the other hand, are a completely different issue. You know very little about those and you don't have a clue on how to use or still them. Considering how her simple presence affects you, they must be on the loose and all over the place. Surely enough, there's gasping and whimpering around you whenever a soft wind blows by, spreading invisible ripples of hazy influence to anyone within their reach.

And that's why you shouldn't get any closer to her. You're not sure how much longer you can keep the little control that you have and there's no telling how it will affect either of you if you lose it all.

She sets her book on the bench and speaks to her friends, just about to stand up. This is enough to encourage you to steel yourself, so you give her a hard stare and shake your head. She frowns, but remains where she is.

Suddenly feeling very self-conscious, you turn and leave quickly.

Too quickly, it seems, for you bump straight into someone, knocking them down. "Je suis désolée," you mumble clumsily, realizing Fierce-girl is now lying sprawled on the floor, wand, gloves, photos and candies in disarray around her. You try to help her stand and pick up her things.

With the weirdest of all expressions, somewhere between a frown and dreamy-eyed amusement, she whispers, "So _you're_ the one with that sweet smell. Did you change your perfume or something?"

In shock and desperately wanting to leave as fast as possible, you open your right hand and flick the wrist clockwise, not even realizing what you've done until the spread out objects zoom into your hands. You stand stock-still and slowly lift your eyes to look at the readhead. Luckily, she only thanks you and takes her things, completely oblivious to what you just did.

Starting to relax and breathe again, you take a stealthy look sideways. Hermione is still on the bench, staring at you with the widest of eyes. In a heartbeat your anxiety returns, now multiplied tenfold.

You lock your gaze on the path ahead and wrap your mind over the single will of moving a foot in front of the other in that direction, hurrying to the carriage.

Your brain is in a whirlwind and it doesn't register the rest of your walk or how you get there. Stepping into your room, you absentmindedly lock the door behind you and set the packages on a corner. As soon as your back finds a wall, you slump against it, sliding down to sit on the floor, embracing your bent legs and lost in thought.

It's happening. It's really happening.

You look at your hands and concentrate, running different spells through your mind. The tingling sensation returns, sometimes stronger, sometimes weaker. The feeling of raw magic flowing through you and crawling under your skin is a new and powerful sensation that you'd never experienced with a wand.

Hightened senses. Stronger charms. Pheromones. Non-verbal and wandless magic. Traits of a grown-up Veela.

None of this should be in the works, though. Your Veela nature was not meant to reach the last stage of development until your teen years were over, well after the human mind was sufficiently mature and stable. At your age, this can only happen under very few exceptions.

And there's no need to think too much, for you know exactly which one is at play here. Your thoughts immediately turn to yesterday, for the implications were not lost on you.

You would have kissed Hermione if it wasn't for a small technicality that stopped you at the very last second. Your emotional control was in rags and you remember your mind being far from its usual focus, charms nearly escaping through your slackened grip.

Next thing you know, the Veela in you immediately rushed to fully mature. And you know that the Veela wouldn't make such a big deal out of this, unless Hermione was recognized as someone with the potential to hold a very special meaning to you.

Ruffling your hair, you sigh and feel quite tired all of a sudden. At the moment, you're not even in speaking terms with her as it is.

You'll have to find a way to change that. But it will have to wait a bit. Right now there are more urgent matters at stake.

It's time to be practical.

You never worried much about understanding all that the last change involved because it still seemed so far away in the future. Now that it's happening, you're alone to deal with it, away from your mother and grandmother.

If this had ocurred back at home, they would take you to a secluded place in the woods for at least a full week of intensive lessons about being an adult Veela, magical training, meditation and emotional balancing. You won't have that luxury now, but you still have to find ways to achieve the same results and fast.

Classes begin in two days. Either you get a grip on yourself or you won't be able to be around the students. Or Hermione.

There isn't enough time for your owl to make the trip home and back bringing material to help, so you have to find answers here. You sigh, trying to figure the best way to deal with this.

Long ago you checked the library at Hogwarts and it doesn't have much about Veela. That's a dead end. You need to be creative.

After considering the wild options of talking to your Headmistress or one of the teachers of the school and exposing your little predicament to seek help, a bit more of thinking pays off and you finally remember just the thing that might come in handy. The day before you left home, your mother slipped an extra wooden box in your trunk, saying it was to be opened only in case of an emergency, but she never told you what it was.

From the look of things, you're pretty sure this is a personal emergency in all its glory.

Getting up, you ransack your trunk until you find the small box, forgotten at its very bottom. You sit on your bed and open it carefully, smiling widely as soon as you look inside. You have every reason to thank all that is mighty for Veela mothers and their uncanny protective instincts.

The box is filled to the brim with unbreakable vials of many healing potions, a handful of rare herbs and an astounding amount of shrunk books about Veela, including History and Medical tomes that would make even the stern Madam Pince very jealous.

Setting the other items aside, you return the books to their original sizes and start to leaf through their pages. Nostalgic, you remember that this latest edition of "From Child to Charms - A Veela Survival Guide" was the first one you read as a child. In a careful way, you check every single one of the other tomes, including their table of contents and a brief overview of a few chapters. You finally set aside "Veela - Physiology and Magic" and "Wandless Charmer - The Veela Within." Both are thick and thorough.

You quickly store the other books back in the trunk and decide to open the packages from home. The box with items for sketching instantly draws your eyes, but it's set aside until you can properly turn your attention to it. Inside the other box, which is certainly Gabrielle's, you find a letter and a fresh batch of pastries that she knows you like a lot. The letter is left on your nightstand to read later, when your mind is bound to be tired.

Time is short and you have to start as soon as possible.

At last, you get ready to make yourself comfortable for a long stay in your room without interruptions. You briefly leave to fill your water jar and set it on the small desk under your window. After a quick shower and a choice of warm homey clothes, you are ready to start. You open the curtains for proper lighting, sit down and open the first book, immersing your mind into a field of knowledge that feels both new and so familiar.

The basic plan is to make the most of the short time ahead, learning as much of the theory and also practicing as best as you can.

Most of your weekend is spent either at your room in complete reclusion, reading the books and meditating to steady your mind, or at some solitary and concealed spots on the grounds that you chose for practicing bits of wandless magic and how to stretch out and recoil your charms.

You slowly become better acquainted with your hyperactive senses and finally learn that there's not much to do about pheromones. They are ultimately linked to your charms and emotions, so that's where you have to focus your control to achieve results.

The short intervals from your fast-paced race against time are meant solely for meals, getting some rest and writing the very long letter you owe to your mother, sharing everything you've left out in previous posts about the past two months (the complete version about Hermione) and all that's happened in the past couple of days.

According to the books, you need healthy hours of sleep every night, but in your present fiery anxiety streak, though, you don't sleep too well or too long during the weekend. Even during the night you wake up more than once and try to read some more. It makes you feel a bit drained, but you believe you'll be able to catch up with proper hours of rest as the days go by.

You notice that an interesting large chapter explains that it would be wise to go on a special diet for a while to get an extra energy boost, adding in some herbal teas to help you relax. It seems that Veela magic is more energy-consuming to perform than wizardkind, since it's wandless and silent. Unfortunately, you don't know the location of the kitchens of the castle to ask for any of that. In all of your exploring around, it has always remained as elusive as the Headmaster's Office to you.

You're thankful that after the Ball you took care in advance of any due homework and that you are ahead in your studies at school. With all that you are trying to do, it gives you some advantage in terms of time.

The weekend flies away faster than you had hoped. As you lie down to go to sleep really late from Sunday to Monday, you're still trying to come to terms with how much has changed for you in such a short span of time.

And to think that only a week ago you were feeling gloomy over the Yule Ball... Now all that seems to have happened in a long lost past.

Your last waking thought for the night is about how perspectives can surely change quickly. The year at Hogwarts is proving to be quite an unusual experience.

At last, the Monday that you've been preparing to withstand arrives, term starts and the corridors erupt with widespread noise, running students and chatter. You're grateful for the (much needed and appreciated) distraction.

In the middle of the morning, after break time, you have the first chance at delving back into the library for hours at will without worrying about who might stride in. The untainted freedom makes you as happy as a giddy kid on a sugar high.

Seeing your favorite table empty gives you a degree of satisfaction that you can barely put into words. You leave your things there and walk through the shelves, contemplating the old books with a greedy smile and pick up several that you'll need soon enough.

As you settle down to get lost in some leisure reading, you notice a group of your friends and some of the Ravenclaws huddled together in a corner, apparently in deep conversation. Your curiosity gets the best of you and you walk over to see what could be so important.

They promptly bring you up to speed on the most recent scandal to shake the walls of the castle. Rita Skeeter unveiled her claws again, dripping venom unabashedly over Hogwarts, only this time directed at the Professor of Care of Magical Creatures. He hasn't been seen since early morning and another teacher had to be called in to fill in his duties.

They lend you the front page of the Daily Prophet and you have trouble keeping your anger in check. Hagrid is a very nice man, with a kind heart and a gentle nature, so unlike what this witch wrote about him.

It's no secret that your Headmistress has taken a liking to the Gamekeeper. And although they probably share the same _problem_ that was dissected in the news, the Skeeter reporter knew better than to expose the Headmistress of a foreign school invited by the Ministry of Magic. Instead, she went for the Gamekeeper of Hogwarts, an easier target.

Why does it matter that he's half-giant? You find it offensive that he is being judged by his parentage. This strikes a very personal nerve and it's all too easy for you to relate to his anguish. You'd go to see him right now if it wasn't for the fact that Hermione is there at the moment, in the middle of her Care of Magical Creatures class. No need for another close call. This will have to stay on hold just a little.

Right after lunch you pretend to return to the carriage to store some of the new books and finally chance a visit to Hagrid's cabin. You notice there's heat coming from inside and his dog is barking loudly, but although you knock on his door and call his name several times, the professor doesn't show to open it.

Checking first that there's no one else nearby, for the first time since you arrived at Hogwarts you concentrate and purposely reach out with the full stretch of your charms, directing them at the cabin. Giants are known to have the ability to block themselves to Veela perception, just as their thick skins are nearly impenetrable to magic. However, as a half-giant, he's not completely concealed to you and your now stronger charms make it just a little easier for you to analyze him.

In a corner you can sense a mix of wavering negative emotions. It's all too clear to you that Hagrid is going through a very hard time dealing with this. You feel the sadness in him. You also feel sadness for him.

And it so happens that you have a clue about who might be able to help him in a way no one else can. An idea starts to play in your mind. All you'll have to do is wait till your next class-free period, right after the afternoon break.

A few more attempts to get Hagrid's attention turn out unsuccessful, so you give up altogether and return to the castle just in time for your Charms class. At first you wish you could will time to go faster, but soon you are so caught up in practicing a new set of shield charms that you're actually surprised when the bell rings.

Rushing through the waves of students, you take fast steps back to the Beauxbatons quarters. Once in your room, you drop your things, reach into the deeper section of your closet and pull out your complete winter quidditch uniform, especially spelled to remain warm and dry. You almost can't believe it's been six months since you last used any type of quidditch robes.

Just for today, it's not only going to be fun to wear, but it can protect you from the weather and maybe it will come in handy to make sure you're identified as a student at Hogwarts.

You change quickly and smile fondly at the reflection on the mirror. Those comfortable white pants and the cornflower blue robes with darker inner linings were your companions for many good moments back at Beauxbatons. The guards and gloves will work in your favor, too, as aids to keep you warm.

Setting your hair in a high ponytail, you shrink the latest edition of the Daily Prophet to stow in your robes and pocket your wand. On your way out, you retrieve an older Nimbus Two Thousand from the broomstick deposit of the carriage, and then walk over to the closest edge of the forest.

After climbing on the broom, a swift kick of your feet gets you soaring up in the air. You fly very high to try to spot what you need - a tight cluster of enchanted trees, deep in the forest, where the stinging weather's had no effect. The place where temperatures remain warm all year and trees are at their widest and tallest. Where flowers still bloom and leaves haven't fallen. The ancient core woodland that keeps the Forbidden Forest alive.

You can't see it as far as your eyes reach, so you fly away following the straight line that aligns the castle and the Beauxbatons carriage, carefully keeping the ground references at your back. With your eyes set on the search, every now and then you briefly go higher for a wider view, hoping your goal is not beyond the mountain range or it'll be too out of reach for you to get there today.

The sun sets early during winter and darkness is about to engulf you completely. As it is, you won't be able to cover much terrain for long. Good thing the sky is clear and the full moon will appear in a short while, so at least it shouldn't be that hard to find your way back.

When you finally arrive at the first line of rising cliffs, enough time has passed that you slow down and start to consider whether or not to head back to the castle and try again tomorrow. Lost in your thinking, you reason that it will be more effective to fly larger distances during the daytime. In your distraction, the broom still moves forward and goes over the top of the closest hill.

And then you are rewarded with a view that has you instantly floored.

A very large valley stretches down before you, plummeting so low that you can't see the ground level. You find yourself hovering just above the tips of enormous trees rooted in the deep lands below, surrounded by cliffs and mountains, and spread around a lively river. The temperature is mild and the greenery reigns in supreme dominance, breached here and there by small clumps of blooming flowers, nuts and scarce fruits.

You take a deep breath, reveling in the fresh and ripe odors of untouched nature growing at will. Nothing like the winter-struck scenery at Hogwarts, that still needs to wait the arrival of spring to become this alive. This is the place you'd been looking for, naturally protected and hidden from prying eyes.

You fly around in circles a few times, checking for the best landing place and to see any reaction to your presence. There is none, but you know better than to underestimate the situation. Pulling out your wand, you send blue and green sparks as you go for a last time around, making sure the message is clear that you are openly showing yourself, then proceed west, where you noticed that the woods thin down to a clearing that's large enough for you to set foot.

Following tradition, you land slowly, leave your broomstick on the ground and step away from it. You look around in awe. There's a part of you that feels at home in this place, in this world that you can understand and where you feel that you belong now. Staring in the direction of the array of mighty trees, you can see the powerful glistening wards enveloping them, completely different from wizardkind. This is an impenetrable barrier, unless a personal invitation across it is issued. One that you do not have.

Now it's time to put to use what your grandmother taught you about the rules to approach an isolated forest niche.

'Stand still. Bow your head. Avoid eye contact at all costs on your first encounter. Keep your arms steady. Your hands must remain open, palms facing forward. Straighten your back. Remain silent until someone invites you to speak. Measure your words. Never raise your voice. Show respect and they will decide if you deserve the same.'

Since you can't use your eyes at the risk of being deemed impolite or a threat, you shut them and rely on your other senses to determine any subtle changes taking place. They'll move stealthily on grounds they are more familiar to use than you are, but you can still... yes... _sense_ them.

There's only absolute silence surrounding you, but in a matter of seconds you notice very subtle aromas reaching your nostrils. A swirl of more than ten different scents reach you. You know they are here now and you're most surely surrounded while they quietly appraise you. Two are most distinct, hyacynth and agarwood, so they must be the closest to you. The others are probably hiding or propped on the trees, keeping you under their precise aim, arrows already strung and ready for use, in case you prove to be trouble.

Someone close by and to your left addresses you harshly, in a hoarse female voice, "You do not belong in these woods. Why did you come?"

You remain still and silent.

A low and deep growl springs from your throat as the very air suddenly becomes thick and heavy, overloaded with an intense mix of odors and you start to feel lightheaded. Somehow you commit your mind back into focus. This is not the time to lose your footing.

Wave after wave of the strongest charms you've ever felt try to overwhelm your senses and render your brain useless, so you concentrate on extending your own as strongly as you can. After a long and hard struggle, you effectively barricade yourself inside a protective bubble where they can't reach you. Worried, you realize it's never taken you this long to protect yourself. The clash of magic is so severe that you can hear a low hum with a weird grating quality coming from the different sets of charms colliding and canceling each other out.

Another voice, softer and also female, argues next, "Perhaps we should calm down for the time being. At least this young maiden knows about the proper way to address us. Disarm yourself and speak, stranger. Tell us about you and what made you come here tonight."

The unpleasant charms become surprisingly weaker. You breathe better. Very, very slowly, you pull out your wand and offer it to them, holding it by the tip. It's swiftly removed from your trembling hand.

You do a full curtsey and finally begin to talk to them, steadying your voice, "I study at 'Ogwarts. I came alone and I mean no 'arm to you or zis place. I apologize for arriving unannounced and uninvited, but zis is a matter that may concern you and it should not wait for ze diplomatic etiquette to be fulfilled."

The owner of the soft voice replies, walking around you, "The elders that taught you were thorough, I see. You do justice to our blood, as well as your own. From your accent, you must be a long way from home. You also look quite young to have charms as developed as yours. Unusual as the circumstances may be, it is a pleasure to meet someone like you. May I know your name?"

Nodding once, you comply, "I am Fleur Isabelle, of the Delacour Clan, in France." After a small pause, you ask softly, "In return, may I know who you are?"

She chuckles in amusement, "I apologize, for this will seem rude, but none of our names will be revealed to you at the moment. It is unfortunate that we cannot show you any hospitality or allow you to cross the barriers that protect the ancient trees. I'm sure you must have realized that you are now standing before our village, at the heart of the Forbidden Forest. However, as you mentioned before, you have yet to earn our trust and a proper invitation to be here. Still, nice try."

You smile, fully aware that she can't see it in your hidden face, "I understand and I 'ave no complaints."

The woman that spoke first decides to question you further, "Very few are aware of this village. It has remained a well kept secret for centuries. How did you learn of our existence?"

It is time to be serious again. A breach of security is something they are sure to worry about, considering the secrecy of their location and nature. "I was never informed about you. I suspected zat a place like zis could exist because of ze fairies at the Yule Ball in 'Ogwarts."

The soft voice quickly requests, "Please tell us more."

"My grandmuzzer told me zat fairies can only live in very old trees. Ze magic of ze fairies protects zem and zey do not suffer ze effects of winter. After ze Ball, I scouted ze grounds around ze castle and zere were no trees to fit zat description as far as I could reach wiz my eyes. Zat made me assume ze fairies 'ad settled zeir dwelling deep in ze woods. Since fairies are tiny and frail, zey would only chose to live at ze core of a dangerous and enchanted forest such as zis if zey were under ze protection of-"

"-a village like ours," the same voice interrupts you, then, sighing loudly. "Yes, you are correct. I wonder if anyone else made the connection. The fairies were invited to be at the Ball and we had our concerns about allowing them to go because of that. We were not aware that one of the students had Veela ancestry."

You swiftly try to assure them, "I am not a regular student at 'Ogwarts. I came for ze Triwizard Tournament and shall remain only until ze end of zis term. You 'ave no need to be concerned. I understand ze importance of keeping zis place in isolation and secrecy. I will not betray zat. If I could deal wiz ze situation zat brought me 'ere by myself, I would 'ave made arrangements for a proper approach to your village at a better moment."

The softer voice addresses you again, "Very well, your words make sense. Please, go on. Let us hear the reason that brought you here."

You nod and start, "A good man at 'Ogwarts 'as been ze victim of a campaign to disgrace 'is name. 'E now 'ides in shame and refuses to tend to 'is duties. I tried to talk to 'im, but it was in vain. 'E is in great distress. I believe 'e would be more sensitive to a visit from you, if it were possible. Perhaps 'e is a friend of yours."

Someone exhales impatiently nearby. The hoarser voice resumes, "We don't leave the Forest, young one. It is part of the agreement we have with the Headmaster of that school. We stay in the woods and never interfere with the students."

This is not the moment to back down and you try to open this to discussion, "I understand and I assumed zat much, but perhaps zis is a situation zat can be 'andled without breaking zat agreement."

The softer voice asks with an obvious curiosity, "Who is this man?"

"It is Rubeus 'Agrid, ze Gamekeeper and Professor of Care of Magical Creatures."

Many gasps reach your ears.

"Hagrid?" In a more urgent tone, the hoarser voice continues, "What happened?"

"A reporter specialized in ruining ze reputation of uzzers wrote an article in an important wizarding newspaper accusing 'im of being 'alf-giant and malicious. 'E locked 'imself in 'is cabin and is not teaching anymore." You pick the shrunk Daily Prophet from your robes and hand it to them.

The owner of the softer voice snaps her fingers and you can guess the newspaper has regained its usual size. She now reads the paper out loud and the other warriors click their tongues in open disagreement.

The hoarser voice takes the lead then, "These are disturbing news. We know Hagrid since he was a student at the castle. He is one of the few that is aware of our presence here and the only one from the outer world that ever came to visit us, except for you, of course. We will not leave this alone. Hagrid lives close to the trees and far from the castle. You were correct, I believe we can arrange a meeting with him that will not interfere with school matters. It shall be informed to the Headmaster."

You are quick to volunteer, "I am glad zat you understand ze importance of zis. I can be zere to escort you from ze edge of ze forest to 'is cabin and back. No students should see you."

The softer voice replies, "You have thought this through, I see. When do you suggest we should go to avoid meeting students and staff?"

After a little thinking you offer, "During school days, at ze end of ze afternoon or during dinner time would be best to stay away from curious stares. It depends on 'ow you will travel, zough. I am guessing you will prefer not to cross ze forest at night."

The woman with the hoarse voice chuckles softly, "It is of no concern, Miss Delacour. We have very swift transportation. Please tell Hagrid that we will arrive at his door in three days, around six o'clock in the afternoon."

You notice she finally addressed you by name. Things are improving. Perhaps you will earn their respect some day. "Very well, I will do so. Zank you for looking after 'im."

In a lighter tone, she continues, "We are the ones to thank you for bringing this to our attention. Please forgive us for the harshness of your reception, but we are not used to visitation from outside the woods. Trust is something we cannot give lightly."

The softer voice intervenes, "We shall begin preparations for our visit soon enough. And now it would be wise for you to go. I believe it is already late for a student of the school to be so far away."

You promptly agree, "Oui, it is so. I must take my leave and return to ze castle before my companions realize I 'ave gone missing."

The softer voice comes closer and you can sense its owner is smiling, "I will enjoy meeting you again, Fleur Delacour. Tonight you showed us a measure of respect that I haven't seen in a long time from any outsiders. Expect me to be a part of the visiting party."

You bow low again, "I shall wait for your arrival. Maybe zen you will allow me to learn your name."

"Maybe..." She chuckles and places your wand back in your hand.

You soon conceal it in your pocket. Still careful not to look at any of them, you pick up your broomstick and lift off. In a final lap, you encircle the full length of the valley slowly, saluting with a shower of golden and silver sparks, and then turn in the direction of the castle, speeding up.

It's already dark and the full moon glows high above you, spreading shiny reflections across the patches of snow in-between the bare trees below. The cool wind whips through your hair and nearly freezes the tips of your nose and ears. It makes your very spirit feel renewed and you do a few extra dives and side-swings for the sake of enjoying the moment.

The peaceful quiet of the scenery stretching all around you relieves you from any traces of angst or distress. The only sound you can hear is that of your flapping robes, a familiar fluttering that you've always found to be soothing. Your mind is crystal clear and you feel as if a huge oppressing weight has been carefully lifted from your heart and set aside.

It's a shame that time really flies when you're enjoying yourself. Almost too quickly for your own good, the last row of trees comes near and you slow down to descend to the ground. Gracefully, you fix your wind-disheveled ponytail and hop off the broomstick. You remove the guards and gloves, carrying them in one hand, and grasp the broomstick with the other, treading on the snow to Hagrid's cabin to tell him the news. It's way past dinner time and your stomach complains in a strained growl.

As you approach, you're surprised to notice the Gryffindor trio is firmly pounding at his door, trying to talk to him. You keep a steady face, but don't stop yourself from gluing your eyes on the cutely pouting brunette, her cheeks flushed from the cold and a good dose of disappointment at the unresponsive half-giant.

You consider whether to leave for the carriage or stay. Fully aware that plenty of probing charms and pheromones tested your control tonight and that you managed to hold your own ground, you're feeling a bit more confident about yourself, though you know it could never be the same as facing Hermione.

Somehow, you end up reasoning that staying outweights leaving. There's only three of them and this might be a good opportunity to see how you react to being within talking distance to the brunette. It will give you a rather accurate idea of any improvements you might have made. You try to convince yourself that it has nothing to do with the fact that you miss her terribly, no matter how bad you still feel about that last encounter a few days ago.

The Gryffindors insist and insist at the door, but the Gamekeeper doesn't respond. When they turn to leave, frustrated, they finally realize you're standing there, looking at them. If you can draw any conclusions by how high they jump up in surprise, they were clearly not expecting company. Or maybe they just never thought they'd come face to face with _you_ at this time and place.

You laugh softly at the look on their faces. All three then stare at your attire and gape.

Harry is the first to find his voice, "You were out playing quidditch? In this weather and time?"

You smile at the naive question, "Non, I was only flying a little." Tilting your head to the door, you change the subject to more pressing matters, "'E is still not answering 'is door, I see."

Hermione takes the lead now, frowning, but curious as ever, "Have you tried talking to him today?"

With a few nods, you walk up to the door, "Oui, at lunchtime, but 'e did not come to ze door."

Ronald finally collects his staggered brain and participates, "Blimey, same with us. He's taking it hard."

You couldn't agree more. It is time to change this. You walk around them and knock on the door with more strength than you'd planned. "'Agrid, zis is Fleur, from Beauxbatons. Please open your door. I need to speak to you."

No answer, except for his very loud dog, barking and scratching the door. How can he hear anything with so much noise going on?

You shake your head and sigh. Closing your eyes and bringing your mind to a focus, a whispered request of "Quiet, Fang" is promptly met and the dog becomes silent.

It's worth another try and you speak as clearly as you can, "'Agrid, I 'ave a message for you. Thursday, around six o'clock, be ready to receive visitors from ze woods. You may keep me out, but zey will not accept 'no' for an answer. I 'ope you understand who I mean. I shall be outside your door at ze right time."

You finally step away, broomstick and gear in tow, calling out for the trio to follow, "'E needs time to sort 'is feelings. Zere is too much for 'im to deal wiz now, but 'e will be better soon."

Despite the return of a permanent scowl on her face, Hermione doesn't miss the oportunity to make a question, "_Who_ exactly is coming, Fleur?"

Your answer has a rather final tone. This is a matter to be kept from student awareness, after all, "I cannot say. Zat is for 'Agrid to know, 'Ermione. Do not worry. It will do 'im good."

The boys remain silent and even the brunette chooses to keep her thoughts to herself.

When you reach the doors of the castle, you stop to say good-bye. Hermione sternly asks the boys to go ahead, giving you a piercing look.

Ronald refuses to leave without her, "Mione, it's almost past curfew. We've got to go."

Harry is quick to agree with him, "Ron is right, Mione. It's not safe for you to stay here. You can get in trouble."

She tries to sway them smoothly, "I just want a short word with Fleur and I'll be right in."

You can't decipher the look on her face. Sighing, you notice it's only been a couple of days and you're already missing her this much.

"Mademoiselle, perhaps it is best to leave zis for anuzzer time. Your friends are concerned, we are all tired from ze first day of classes and I 'ave missed dinner." You press your hands against your stomach, hoping the soft rumbling sensation doesn't end up embarrassing you too much.

Outnumbered and defeated, Hermione bites her lower lip. She's flustered and in a shaky mood, but realizing what you just said, she offers, "Do you know where the kitchens are?"

This gets your attention immediately, "Non, I 'ave not found zem, yet."

Ronald volunteers, "Come with us. We can show you. The house-elves rule that place!"

Interesting as it sounds, you're torn because of this curfew of theirs and choose to politely decline as it is so late, but then your stomach intervenes, growling loud and clear its opinion at the chance of anything to dampen the emptiness inside. They chuckle timidly. You finally nod, blushing, and follow them down a staircase leading to the entrance of the Hufflepuff Common Room and the kitchens.

The house-elves are thrilled at your request and immediately start to prepare a small lunch for you. Putting your broomstick, guards and gloves in a corner, you wash your hands before sitting as comfortably as you manage on a small stool, watching curiously this unusual kitchen and how well the small creatures work together cooking, cleaning, organizing and storing.

A goblet of fresh juice, a fine sandwich and a couple of pears soon are set before you. Everything is very tasty and you take extra time eating in small bites and chewing slowly the food, letting the flavours reach each of the sensitive spots on your tongue. There's definitely a positive side to this hypersensitivity of yours that makes you notice new meanings and details in the simplest of things, as if you were literally learning all over again about the world that surrounds you. Savouring it in small gulps, you're sure that you've never enjoyed pumpkin juice this much.

Hermione watches as you eat with gusto for a while and then gives her friends a pleading look.

You risk a glance their way. Ronald is about to make a remark, but Harry elbows him in the ribs and a low whimper is all that comes out of him. Harry tugs at his robes and they leave the kitchens, telling Hermione that they'll head to the Common Room and wait for her there. You give them a small nod and turn to face the brunette as you finish the meal.

Neither of you breaks the long silence and your expressions remain serious. Your eyes hardly drift away from hers and she does the same to you. It's rather obvious that you're both cautiously appraising the other. That last encounter left you with the unpleasant sensation that the distance between you has grown substantially. As much as the past days have kept your mind elsewhere, you're still hurt about that exchange and, by all that you can recall from her words, you have every reason to believe that she must be hurting as well.

When you're done, you thank the house-elves and stand to get your things. Hermione wishes them a good night and walks out of the kitchens, waiting for you in the corridor.

You return to the Entrance Hall together and she's about to speak, but you frown and wave your hand in the direction of the grand staircase, "I should walk you to your Common Room, non? If anyone approaches us, we can tell zem zat you were 'elping me get around in ze castle. It is the truth, after all. You are late because you kept me company in ze kitchens. Zis will avoid any trouble for you."

Gratefully, she sighs in relief and smiles, "Thank you. Let's go, then."

As you weave your way through the castle, in and out of the corridors, you notice she's biting her lip and her brows are furrowed. Put together, those two signs mean _deep in thought_. "Fleur, I don't get the reason for all this secrecy. Who could be coming for Hagrid?"

You chuckle lightly, "Do not zink about it, 'Ermione. Let 'e get all ze 'elp 'e needs."

The passageway where you've just arrived is long and narrow, with many large windows on one side, reaching up to the high ceiling. Right outside, the lake can be seen for a good stretch, until it becomes lost in the mountains around the castle. Hermione moves closer to a window and stops before an unhampered view of the Durmstrang ship, afloat and impressive. She smiles and her eyes roam, taking in the beautiful landscape at night.

You stay close and a little behind her, preferring to simply observe the striking brunette under the moonlight. Not a single attempt is made by either of you to return to reality, so seconds turn into minutes and both remain silent, entranced and absorbed in your own thoughts. A growing sense of elated serenity takes over and your mind begins to relax like it hasn't in days. A sweet drowsiness sets in. You're so caught up in this weightless freedom that you don't even realize how much you've lowered your guard until it's too late.

A soft breeze sweeps in, covering in a flash the small distance from the windows to you. The scent of her shampoo quickly finds its way to tickle your senses and your world is turned upside down faster than a blink.

Goose bumps race up and down your arms and your skin feels on fire. Your heartbeat either accelerates madly or slows down severely. The tingling sensation begins in one of your hands and then spreads out through all of your body.

A sudden wave of nausea hits you hard and you sway unsteadily, stretching your right arm to anchor yourself to the wall, trying to settle your back against it. The onslaught to your senses is so powerful that you find yourself unable to breathe, see or think straight.

Your last incoherent thought is about floating (drowning?) in deep and utter nothingness. There's no course to follow, no direction, no way out, no right or wrong. Your mind only drifts away in an endless void where time has no standing and you can't grasp how long you remain like that.

All and any perception left is resumed to an infinite stretch of silence and darkness…

And then, there's a flash of light and soft whispering that you can't understand, as if coming from a very distant place.

Darkness and silence again…

The vague flickers of reality become more and more consistent, until your body jolts in response, fighting to shake off the heavy apathy. The far away voice becomes stronger and stronger, your brain struggling to make sense of the words… And now you're rocking from side to side... And there's a ticklish sensation on your forehead.

You finally inhale sharply and can see again, realizing that the prettiest chocolate-colored eyes are fixed on you. Your vision becomes sharper and your surroundings start to make sense. Hermione is grasping your arms and shaking you lightly, concern clearly marked all over her face. When she finds your eyes moving and trying to focus, she touches your damp forehead again, "Fleur? Fleur, _talk_ to me."

Holding up your hands, you shake your head and camly reply, with a slightly slurring tongue, "I am alright now. Please. You can let me go." Trembling, you put a little distance between the two of you.

"Are you sure? You don't look very well. We should get you to the Hospital Wing." Another mild breeze comes your way, only this time she is the one to inhale briskly and her voice cracks a little, giving you a suspicious look, "I... recognize that smell."

You ignore her last comment. "I assure you zat I am not sick. I just need some air." You retreat to be at a larger distance from her, seeking an open window for a whiff of fresh and cold air. Slowly, you add, "I 'ave not been sleeping very well. It comes wiz a price."

The tiredness left you vulnerable enough to allow something as simple as her scent to temporarily shortcircuit your brain. You breathe slowly, giving yourself time to recover. In a little while you start to feel better, back in control.

"Fleur, look at me. Your eyes... They are different." You remember your grandmother's and mother's eyes change of color. For them, it only happens when their Veela magic is under use. Your changes, however, just come and go erratically as outbursts of emotions and your flimsy control stirs them.

You take a final deep breath and now definitely feel better like you should. Turning to look at her, you give her easy access to check again, "Zere is nothing wrong. You can see for yourself." She openly searches them and her tight frown softens slowly.

She nods and invites you promptly, "Come on, let's keep going so you can get some rest. You can come into the Common Room and sit down for a bit before returning to the carriage." Not giving you any time to refuse or think things over, she grips your hand and pulls you back into an easy stride. You can't help but think the touch is too brief and you soon miss it when she releases you.

The remaining distance is covered in silence, stealing a few glances at each other. When you're close to the portrait at the entrance, the Fat Lady immediately recognizes you, performs an exagerated curtsey that almost makes her topple over and seems to be in a chatty mood, "Bonny-sew-are, le championne. You are back. Are you going to stay with me after your friend goes in again?"

You narrow your eyes, giving her a hard stare and she backs down, "Alright, alright, I get it. One private moment coming up. I'll go visit Violet. Call when you need me."

As soon as you are alone, Hermione rounds up on you, "Fleur, do you want to go inside? The Common Room is very nice and warm."

You shake your head slowly, "Non, I am alright. It is already late and I 'ave to return. No one knows I 'ave left and zere might be some worried friends looking for me."

Her lips remain pursed for a little while and then she goes on, "Look, I know it's late, but this won't wait. Can you stay a bit to talk?"

You discreetly stretch the distance between you and try for a casual tone, even though you are well aware of the stony look on your face, "We can 'ave anuzzer talk, if you want to, but I was under ze impression zat it was best for us to avoid it after zat latest disagreement. We seem to get too much into each uzzer's wrong side."

Hermione clenches her jaw, but her voice remains calm, "I agree that we should be doing better than that by now and I'd appreciate it if you stopped avoiding me. We have to discuss what happened the other day sooner or later."

Wearily, you take a deep breath and hope this doesn't turn ugly, "Is it really wise to speak about it right now? A great part of zat conversation was about anger and disappointment. I overstepped boundaries, I nearly lost control of my emotions and charms more zan once, and because of zat, I ended up putting you on a tough spot. In ze end I made you upset and you said zat you clearly 'ate ze way we are now… Look, we both said too much and it is all still painfully fresh. Perhaps we need some time to cool our 'eads first, non?"

She looks a little annoyed, "No, Fleur. I think we need to talk about it once and for all. That meeting came out all wrong. I never unexpected a conversation between us would go that far. Believe me, there was no way for me to be ready to talk to you about all that. And don't even get me started on the... that _test_ of yours." She is now biting her lower lip uneasily.

In a calm voice you try to defuse the situation before things heat up, "I should explain about zat... hm, test. Zere was a challenge in your words and also in your attitude zat day. I turned a blind eye to everything else. You are with Mr. Krum and I did not respect zat, even at the risk of upsetting you. Zere were many zings I should not 'ave said and I 'ad no right to go zat close to you. I owe you an apology for all zat."

Hermione scowls and makes an attempt to speak, but you don't let her, "Before you say anything, do you see 'ow zis bothers you so much? I feel ze same way. If we talk about zat again, it can lead to anuzzer bad falling out. I do not want to 'ave zat."

Still frowning, she pauses for a while, and then replies firmly, "You can't shy away from talking to me now. It's not fair. Things are not as you're thinking and you have to give me a chance to explain, too. Fleur, you just got your turn to apologize and that day you said all you wanted."

You lean against a wall for support, shaking your head, "Non, zat is not entirely true. I never 'ad a chance to say what I could really 'ave told you, 'Ermione. Instead, we ended up 'aving zat silly discussion. And I recall giving you plenty of opportunity to speak your mind as well, Mademoiselle, which I believe zat you did. I got ze message loud and clear right to ze end of ze conversation."

Her eyes narrow fiercely and she daringly starts to walk over to you, but when the brunette comes to be at arm's reach, it all changes. She suddenly teeters and takes a few steps away, closes her eyes and inhales deeply a few times. Her hands rise to massage her temples and when she opens her eyes again, you notice dilated pupils and a very soft red blush. "It's that sweet smell again. Too powerful now. Something is going on with you. Wandless magic, talking to Fang, and now this… the new smell. These are pheromones, right? They were there when we had that talk."

You nod, wide-eyed, swallowing hard, "You knew about it, zen?

"I realized you were a little off after we almost... well, you know... kissed." She blushes a little more, but you don't make any remarks. "That's when I noticed something different that hadn't been there before. And I couldn't find any other explanation for that fresh smell. Sweet almonds."

So that's what you're like. "Sweet almonds... Are you sure?"

Her eyes have gone back to normal and she gives you a small smile in assurance, but keeps her distance, "I'd recognize it anywhere. You know it's here now, don't you? Since you nearly passed out on that corridor? It varies a lot. Sometimes it's very subtle, and then there are other times, like now, when it becomes too strong."

"Je suis désolée. I am still trying to control zat. Unlike ze charms, zis is completely new to me." The following question just pops out from your lips, "Is it unpleasant?"

She blushes a very deep shade of red and your eyebrows shoot high. "No, not at all. I happen to like it."

"Oh... Right." Your embarrassment clearly shows on your voice, so you try to awkwardly change the subject a bit. "It must be very late now. Perhaps it is a good moment for me to leave."

Hermione frowns briefly, "Not without at least some explaining, Fleur. I don't want things to stay like this any longer."

You hear a subdued swishing noise and you whirl your head to scan the corridor, but find nothing. Distractedly, you look at her again, "I... I missed zat. What did you say?

She bites her lip, "Viktor and-"

"Miss Delacour and Miss Granger." A soft but sharp voice claims your attention, testing a couple of your coronaries in the blink of an eye. You turn hastily to see Professor Snape walking your way. "I am sure you are well aware of the time. Would you care to explain?"

You react quickly, sensing Hermione's sudden discomfort, "Professor, Mademoiselle Granger was 'elping me around ze castle and we lost track of ze 'our. I was just leaving 'er 'ere to return to ze carriage."

With his trademark smirk, he addresses Hermione and your eye twitches in concern, "Miss Granger, I trust you still remember the definition of curfew. Ten points from Gryffindor should refresh your memory." He then looks at you and adds, "I will walk you to the carriage, Miss Delacour, and tomorrow I will ask our Headmaster to talk to Madame Maxime about the rules to be followed by _all_ of the students presently at Hogwarts."

You try to keep his attention on you by playing innocent, "Professor, zat will not be necessary. I can find my way out to ze grounds."

He only stares back at you, emotionless, "It is my duty to make sure you return safely to the Beauxbatons carriage, Miss Delacour. In the mean time, Miss Granger, your friends must be waiting for you to retire."

She nods at him, comes around you and boldly tiptoes to plant a soft kiss on your cheek, and then wishes you a good night.

An unusual heat warms your face. And you can tell there are definitely some butterflies playing around, too.

You wait until the portrait closes behind her to accompany the professor.

The stroll to the carriage is uneventful and you are quick to thank him for his time. Luckily, no one seems to have noticed your absence, so you put the broomstick back in place and go straight to your room.

It's been a long day. You barely stay awake long enough to shower and change into your nightgown.

For once in a long time, you're sound asleep as soon as your head touches the pillow.

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><p>TBC<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Okay, major warning – colossal chapter ahead. This was an extra challenge from the dear friend that talked me into writing this fanfic in the first place (and then managed to 'misplace' the pendrive with the draft of the first ten chapters after the first was already up on FF dot net). He's been amused by the growing length of the chapters and dared me to go near 20k words for once.

This is the result and, as you can see, it took me a long while to put this together. At the moment, life is still giving me a lot of lemons and free time looks more and more like a luxury. I will try to update faster.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate the reviews and the suggestions. They always help to shape up the storyline.

* * *

><p>Chapter 6.<p>

Morning comes and you wake up slowly, feeling well rested for a change. Smiling, you lazily let a few minutes pass as you fully appreciate the positive effects that a good night of solid sleep has on your mind, magic and body. If you can keep this up for the coming days, you'll be in great shape soon enough.

You quickly realize that you've left the bed a lot earlier than usual and that the sun hasn't even come up, but you're so invigorated that it's easy to focus your mind and plan for the day ahead. Trying to follow the sound advice from the Veela books, you remember to sit at your desk, pull out a scroll of parchment and copy the simple dietary instructions for your on-going phase. Maybe the results from a careful diet will be as interesting as the ones you've just experienced with adequate sleep. It's worth the try and you can definitely use the leverage.

With so much happening lately, you open another scroll and write a letter home telling your mother about your wandering into the woods yesterday, even though her answer to your previous letter hasn't arrived, yet. It is unusual to realize that no one told you about the Veela village in the Forbidden Forest. Frowning, you add this to the already large number of things you'll want to ask her when you meet again.

Once all the planning is done, you get up and start your everyday routine, which now includes a bit of meditation and the wandless summoning and banishing of small objects in the quiet of your room. From the long list of wandless spells waiting for your attention and time, you're barely beginning to move on to shield and silencing charms.

The Veela magic feels a little more natural now than it did during the weekend, but there's no denying that it still tires you too much and it doesn't compare to how your spells with a wand are more reliable, precise and already developed for a wider range of purposes.

For obvious reasons, half a week of wandless magic can't possibly measure up to years of practicing with a wand. You'll just have to be patient and keep on learning and training on your own. And this is fine by you. After all, it is not as much a priority as your more pressing need to bring your charms and emotions under a better control.

You get dressed slowly and take your time getting ready, but even though there's no rush guiding your actions, you're done sooner than intended and decide to step out of the carriage, relishing the solitary moments until your friends come after you to start the day.

The grounds are completely still and silent at this early hour. The very air seems dormant, without the softest of breezes to play with fallen leaves. Fresh layers of powder snow spread out in all directions, covering the landscape up to the mountaintops and blending with the fluffy clouds overhead.

The serene profile of Hogwarts towers over the pure whiteness, the most notable sign of human presence around. Your mind swiftly drifts away to your sketchbook and how beautiful this scenery would look if you could correctly replicate it on paper. A thought for later, perhaps.

Solemnly, you watch the break of dawn and the surge of light and warmth, chasing away the remnants of the night. Sunrays spray all around you as the sun lifts in the horizon, leaking through the many uneven icicles that hang from branches and jagged rocks. Each tiny pilar of glimmering ice gives off unusual reflections of its surroundings, melding colors and shapes into a spectacle of beautiful possibilities.

You walk slowly in a large circle around the carriage to rise your body temperature, while performing another warming charm on your clothes. Perhaps it's because you're so far north now and missing your family, but winter has never hit you as such a lonesome and lasting season. You inhale deeply, missing the unique aromas of blooming wild flowers. There's hardly any colour to look at and no melodic twittering from lively birds.

You heartily wish that Spring hurries to arrive.

A very soft chirping close by spikes your curiosity and you decide to investigate. It seems a small group of squirrels is playfully running around and you hide behind a large tree to take a peek. It's entertaining to watch as they go up and down the many tree trunks, chase each other, jump from a branch to another and sometimes disappear behind small rocks on the ground, leaving only their striking bushy tails as evidence of their hiding spots.

The cute display keeps your mind busy and unfazed. Before you know it, the doors of the carriage are opening up already to allow the exit of hungry students all too willing to march to the castle. Some of your friends notice what's going on and come near, laughing with excitement. The little furry animals bolt away as soon as they see the newcomers, disbanding up and away to the trees.

At breakfast, you start to wonder why it's taking so long for news to arrive from home. You are eagerly expecting a bird to show up any day now, bringing a letter from your mother. Pure instinct tells you that she won't pass the opportunity to be quite outspoken about what you mentioned during the weekend, whether it be in a good or bad way. You are curious about what she'll choose to say, but until now, days have streamed by and the silence still remains.

The pleasant chatter at your table is inviting and you engage in an easy conversation with your neighbours. Luna and Cho are now constantly sitting nearby and mingling with your group of friends. The young blonde girl gives you a knowing smile and, keeping her eyes half-lidded, starts to choose bits of food from the plates around while addressing you, "You are looking very nice today, Fleur."

Politely, you smile and reply at once, adding a playful wink, "Merci. So are you, Luna. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, I did, thank you." In a dreamy and distant voice, the girl whispers for your ears only, "I like what you did. That was a wonderful idea, Fleur."

The questioning look you send her is enough to make her realize you didn't grasp a thing from her words, so she adds on, "This light mix into your natural scent. Such an interesting blend it is, but so subtle that I can't make it out."

The comment is quite odd and you don't have a clue at what she's hinting, so you quickly make an attempt to change the subject, "Hmm... 'Ow was ze start of classes for you, Luna?"

"It was alright, Fleur. Most of my classmates went home for the holidays, so we're still catching up with each other's news. They are very curious about the Yule Ball." Luna's eyes become more focused and she continues, "My father said that some of the next articles..."

Her voice drifts on, but you become distracted as your eyes catch a group of Gryffindors striding in. Your thoughts instantly turn to last night. And Hermione, of course.

You sigh. The brunette seemed really determined to talk and smooth things a bit, though there wasn't that much of a chance for her to share whatever she had intended to speak. Time was against you and you didn't make things easy for her either, but it was an interesting turn of events, nonetheless. That good-bye of hers certainly took you by surprise.

A silly smile stretches your lips and you graze your cheek softly. There's still a little tingling when you recall the fleeting and unexpected gesture of affection. You chuckle and shake your head, very much aware that you must definitely be going out of your mind if something as simple as a peck on the cheek, and one that was witnessed by a professor, gets your brain so worked up this early in the morning. Especially since you're treading such unsteady grounds with her as it is.

Searching the extent of the Gryffindor table, you realize that Hermione is just about to sit down with her friends. The remainder of a smile is still showing on your face and the brunette soon looks your way, meeting your stare. She nods at you, flashing a brief grin, and then turns to answer a question from Harry. The boy noticed your exchange and also nods at you, while talking to her. During their conversation and as they get started on breakfast, on a few occasions she glances at your table. Her eyes particularly linger when they settle on you and the people around you.

You take in the confident posture as she speaks, the firm resolve behind her stares and how easily she seems to be carrying herself today. This is quite intriguing, if all that's been happening for the last week or so can serve as a pattern for comparison.

Oh, well... the overall emotional turnover between the two of you should be enough to make anyone dizzy. It's certainly been keeping you on your toes.

A soft pressure on your left hand makes you notice Luna once again, smiling at you. You cringe and sincerely apologize, "Je suis désolée, Luna. I saw some friends arriving and I did not listen to you properly."

She only shakes her head, amused, and looks at where your eyes had been roaming, "Your friends are from Gryffindor? I have a few friends there, too." She waves a hand at the other table and you find it curious that Fierce-girl is the one that waves back. "I was saying that the Nargles took away some of my things during the weekend. This time it was only personal items, nothing from school. I'm sure they'll give them back soon."

Not knowing how to reply to this, you keep your silence. Still looking at the Gryffindors, you realize the readhead isn't scowling any longer, choosing instead to stare intently at Hermione for long periods of time, and also steal puzzled looks at you. She doesn't even try to conceal her actions, completely aware that at least you are on to her.

Before the bell rings for the start of classes, you quickly leave and find the way to the kitchens. The house-elves are quite busy over breakfast, but they stop shortly what they are doing to acknowledge your presence and bow very low, the tips of their long noses touching the floor.

You greet them and one that is dressed flamboyantly comes to talk to you for a while, squeaking excitedly, "Dobby is honored to see Harry Potter's friend again, miss."

He makes a stool hover closer for you to sit down. "Merci, Dobby. Please, call me Fleur. I wanted to show my gratitude for your 'elp last night." After searching through the contents of your bag, you find what you were looking for and offer him a very good book on French cuisine. From what you can recall of your previous encounters with house-elves, this is a gift they will surely appreciate.

Not allowing him enough time to find words to refuse, you flip through many pages and point out with nice descriptions a few of the photos of a variety of dishes that he's clearly never seen before. You discreetly pretend not to notice the timid and furtive glances from some of his curious companions. It is an interesting book, where each recipe is fully illustrated, showing the ingredients and each step of the cooking process. There is no need to read a single word to follow the instructions and it is very trendy in wizarding Paris right now.

You're thrilled to see how his eyes are wide and curious, entranced by the beautiful display. "I zink your cooking is very good and zis is not meant to suggest any changes. It is only a gift for you to know a little more about my country. I 'ope you all like it."

He finally thanks you profusely. With a bit of reserve, you lower your voice and find your small list, "Dobby, I 'ave to discuss a more personal matter wiz you. I am experiencing an unusual 'ealth condition. A small change in my diet can 'elp me. Zis is a short list of a few extra additions zat I am advised to take, a dose per day. Would you mind telling me if it is possible to find zem 'ere?"

The house-elf nods at once and listens carefully as you read him the list of items, smiling broadly and nodding afterwards, "Dobby can help, miss. Fresh produce are delivered every Saturday. "

You gratefully bow at him, "It is not for long, Dobby. My 'ealth should improve in a month or two."

Dobby soon replies, grinning, "Everyday before lunch Dobby will prepare a portion for miss, until miss doesn't need it."

All you want to do is hug the little house-elf, but you know it would be too much for him. You'll just have to put some thought into another nice present for him later. The bell rings and you promptly stand up, bowing and thanking him once again.

The rest of the day is uneventful and you're falling back into the regular cadence of classes without missing a beat. A few students still react too exhuberantly to your charms and pheromones, though you notice their number is dwindling slowly. Even during the few emotional outbursts that you still can't contain properly, no one seems to think it's too unusual anymore that some boys and few girls stare at you through glassy eyes. There's still room for improvement, but you have the feeling that you're on the right path.

The on-going sequence of lessons and short breaks in the library occupy your full time and, before you know it, the day has zoomed away and you're heading back to the carriage.

On your way there, you try once again to talk to Hagrid, but he's still keeping to himself. You sigh, hoping that this will be over soon. This type of behavior makes him look guilty of all that the Skeeter witch wrote and it's frustrating to see her have the upper hand over his reputation.

At least help will be coming in a couple of days.

In your room at night, you set your things in place for the next day and get ready to relax and read for a bit until you drift into sleep. You write a very long letter to Gabrielle, and you soon recall the inspiring landscape around Hogwarts from early morning as you're piecing bits from your day to share with her.

In an instant, your brain makes the link to your sketch material. It would be fun to send her some sketches with the letter to illustrate what you're telling her. This can spark her curiosity in a good way. Maybe someday she'll want to come to the castle and see for herself all that you've had the opportunity to experience with the Triwizard Tournament.

You turn your attention to the package delivered from home, still set aside and untouched. Not feeling tired yet, this seems to be a good moment to finally dedicate some attention to the hobby you've had since childhood. Picking up the box carefully, you empty its contents on your desk, checking out the large sketchbook and the various types of pencils and charcoal bits.

It's been a while since you last portrayed any images on paper. Back at home, your friends were used to seeing you all around the Beauxbatons grounds, completely absorbed into a new challenging sketch. It always helped you unwind from all the school work and stress, while also keeping your mind alert to detail. And right now you can benefit from all of that.

After little hesitation, you decide it's worth a go. You try to draw the furniture and many small objects around your room for starters. At first, the pencil you picked feels alien in your hands and you're not happy with the results. A bit of patience and lots of practice later, though, it all comes back to you and nice sketches start to take shape before your eyes.

Aiming for a harder target, perhaps it's time to test your skills and see how you perform when drawing not what you see before your eyes, but what you recall from memory. Slowly, you set down the lines of a scene from the first task of the Tournament, when you caught sight of your designated dragon, standing in a pit over the eggs. Your hand moves in quick and careful strokes as you evoke more and more details to add to the sketch.

It takes you a full hour until a decent rendition is complete and it pleases you to see that the traces are firm, the composition is balanced, and that you got the perspective right. You end up smiling widely. This makes you confident to try and draw other important scenes from memory as well.

Including a few that took place at the Yule Ball and that have been haunting your dreams at night, but that you'd still love to revisit from time to time.

Finally feeling satisfied and a little tired, you put away the sketch materials, let the room fall into darkness and swiftly settle under the duvet. As a pleasant surprise, once again you're quick to float away in a thoroughly relaxing sleep.

Later on the following day, a Wednesday, you have free time after lunch and decide to go to one of your quiet spots close to the lake. This is turning out to be typical for most of your large stretches of free time and you enjoy being alone with your thoughts, books, some magic practice, and now, also sketches.

You comfortably wander through the well-known corridors, not a care in your mind, finding your way till you reach a specific old tapestry hanging on a wall. When you lift one of its corners, a long secret passageway is revealed, snaking away into almost complete darkness. It is lit by a single weak torch that starts to flutter as a small rush of air sneaks around you.

Stepping inside, you walk slowly and with an outstretched arm to avoid unpleasant surprises in the poor lighting. The soft flame plays with your shadow and with the many small glinting speckles on the stones from the walls, giving the place an eery appearance. No matter how many times you use the same shortcut, you just can't get used to it.

In a few more strides you reach the portrait at the other end of the passageway and swing it to go outside, to a large courtyard. Your eyes squint almost shut as you shield them with your hands and try to furiously blink to adjust to the bright sunlight that hits you straight in the face.

Rubbing them a little, you are finally able to focus your blurry vision again, only to realize there's someone standing still right beside you, looking straight into your eyes. You're so startled by this that you whimper and almost jump out of your skin, throwing your arms out wildly and completely forgetting about your things, that go flying every which way. With unsteady fingers, you clutch your wand and raise it in front of you.

It must have been an unusual and weird scene, for your ears are greeted with the all too familiar and beautiful laughter that you never stop missing. Hermione comes near you and carefully takes hold of your arms to steady your unbalanced body. You're still shaking and there's no way you can trust your jelly knees just yet, but you stiffen somewhat at her touch and keep in mind not to overreact.

She speaks in a soothing tone, "Hello, Fleur. You don't need to pull out your wand. It's only me."

Your answer comes as a strained whisper, building your voice up from a shallow breath to the next, "Why did you do zat? I could 'ave 'exed your shadow all ze way to _Iceland_."

Now she has an even stronger fit of laughter. At your expense, no less. You watch, torn between being frustrated or in awe, but then realize it's too infectious to keep your straight face and you are soon smiling a little as well.

She nods in appreciation as she gently rubs your arms up and down with her hands. "I didn't mean to scare you, so please don't be angry. I'm sorry for laughing, but I just couldn't control myself. And that's weird, since I'm not even like that," she says, rolling her eyes playfully. "If it's any consolation, I would've done the same as you. Right now my stuff would be all over the place, too."

You're so close, and then it happens... again. A soft pine odor and you're going lightheaded, mind on full shutdown and already losing your balance. You close your eyes tightly, turning your head sharply to a side, seeking fresh air to inhale, and your back finds a wall as she pushes you gently against it for support. "Fleur? Come on, not again. Are you alright?"

It is briefer this time, though, and you're soon looking back at her, "Oui, I am fine. You just startled me... a lot."

You bring your posture into a semblance of normalcy and try to shift her attention elsewhere, "Since New Year zis courtyard 'as been deserted. I did not even see footsteps in the snow whenever I came zis way. 'Ow did you find me?"

"It took me a while to track you down, but I have my ways," she states with the hint of a smug smile and your eyes narrow a little. The brunette just stares back, clearly amused, "Hey, don't look at me like that! You're not the only one that pays attention to other people's class schedules. Or whereabouts."

Shaking your head, you pick up your belongings with her help, and then stand still to look at her. With a raised eyebrow and arms crossed, you let a silent question linger in the air.

"I guessed you were going to read at that nice place by the lake. Can I join you?" she asks and swiftly pulls a large book from her rucksack to show you. "I brought my own book, though since we both have the afternoon free, I'd first like to straighten out a few things between us."

You frown at this. So she came prepared, it seems. After giving her suggestion a little more thought, you simply nod, "Alright."

Walking together, side by side, you try to keep your charms at the least possible intensity. Leaving for the grounds, you notice there are no other students to be seen, as you had expected, for they now either favor staying indoors or meeting at the other (warmer) courtyards.

In a leisure stroll, you head beyond the outer walls of the castle and towards the path of stones that leads to your spot. Even with the melting snow now looking less white or pure than it did earlier in the morning, the scenery is still beautiful to watch. The sun above keeps a steady warmth and it's a bit windy, but in a pleasant way, and you make sure to stay aware of the direction the currents of air are blowing.

Hermione is being particularly outspoken today, not allowing any period of silence to last long or become uncomfortable. You know she's a private person and it makes you wonder if the fact that you're both obviously alone gives her some extra confidence. Or maybe she really wants to have a good conversation and is trying to keep a friendly mood. It's a visible change from her behavior of late, especially with you. What is going on in that mind?

She stumbles on a few loose rocks, but you manage to grasp one of her arms and keep her steady on her feet.

"Thanks, Fleur. That was a close call." The brunette straightens her rucksack and turns to glance at you, "Er... I've been thinking. What's the story with you and quidditch?"

A puzzled look springs on your face while you try to figure out where that came from, "Oh, ze uniform zat day..." You can't stop smiling a little, "I am not a 'ardcore player or fan. Quidditch can be a fun game and I was on ze team at school. Ze exercise 'elps to keep ze body in shape."

At that, Hermione chuckles softly and you look at her, confused. "What is it? You zink I do not look fit?"

She seems to blush a little, but her head turns away from you and you can't be sure, "Please, Fleur. Most of the remarks at the Yule Ball were from boys praising how fit you looked. And the rest were from girls being jealous at the way the dress robes made your figure stand out even more than usual."

Smiling, it's now your turn to chuckle and hers to look puzzled, "Are you sure you are talking about ze correct Ball? In ze one I went to, all of ze remarks were about a stunning brunette and 'er famous date."

Hermione raises one of her eyebrows, bites her lower lip and silently looks at you for a long time.

A wide grin finally blooms on your face and you give her a wink, "I got you zere, non?"

The corners of her mouth begin to quake upwards and soon she can't keep up the serious face, breaking into a short laugh. She finally shrugs and whispers, "Touché."

There's barely any time to chuckle together, as you've reached the place to step out of the path and trail down through the trees to get to your destination. Most of the snow has melted here, so your steps are slow and careful on the slippery ground.

You notice she becomes a bit uneasy now, looking back at the path a few times. A light touch to the shoulder gets her attention, "Is everything alright? We do not 'ave to be 'ere. Perhaps you prefer to go back to ze castle?"

She shakes her head, "No, it's okay. I just thought I heard something."

You wave your hand and point at the branches of the trees around you, "It must 'ave been ze squirrels, 'Ermione. Zey are following us."

Looking up, she quickly realizes that the small animals, indeed, are hopping high up, keeping tabs on you. Her furrowed brow unclenches considerably as she watches them bouncing hastily for a while, entertained by the playful diversion.

A heavy silence falls between you after that. You can sense the undercurrents of tension building with each new step now, though her jaw is set and her movements are steady. She seems more determined than anxious. It makes you wonder what is this you are about to get into.

With a final left turn, you reach the secluded spot that overlooks the lake. There are many tall trees gathered nearby, their wide trunks standing as a protective barrier against the wind and also casting shadows that shelter you from direct sunlight.

After the long walk in the cold weather, your cheeks are now pinkish and your breaths are coming out in visible white puffs. You take off your cap, draw out your wand and produce a hot-air charm, melting any leftover snow, while the brunette thoughtfully scourgifies a few large rocks for you to sit down and the ground in between, removing any excessive moisture. At last, you cast some warming charms around and she conjures many small bluebell flames.

When you're done, it doesn't even look like you're in the middle of winter anymore.

A soft breeze ruffles your hair and you take your time to sit down and set your bag beside you, reaching inside for the couple of Veela books you're still tackling. The surface of the dark lake is undisturbed, mirroring the tall mountains and the sky above. You turn to face Hermione, noticing she's already nestled on a rock, a book on her lap and that brown stare intently locked on you.

She rubs her hands together and gives them a soft warming blow, "Is it alright if we talk first?"

You are ready to follow her cue, calmly nodding back, "Oui. 'Ow do you want to do zis?"

"We've been jumping from a misunderstanding to the next, " she answers with ease, in a steady voice. "For once, I'd like us to have an honest conversation. Just talk, no fighting. There are things you need to know from me. And if it's alright, I have a few questions for you, too."

You're growing more and more curious to see how this is to unfold, "Do you want to start or should I?"

She places her book at her side, getting ready, "I want to begin. On our last meetings I didn't really say much."

Steering your eyes back to the lake, you nod once and wait.

A little later, you hear a lengthy intake of breath, and then she starts, "There are some long overdue apologies I have to make to you." Frowning, you whip your head in her direction and are about to cut in, when she makes you stop with a soft but firm voice, keeping her face calm, "_No_, Fleur, you can't interrupt today. Please be patient and hear me out. You'll have your turn."

Your lips scrunch into a thin line and you grit your teeth tightly. She probably takes it as your reluctant acceptance of her terms and she doesn't seem too pleased at that. At least you know she's going the extra mile to keep her temper in check. You put some effort into doing the same.

The brunette stands and starts to walk up and down slowly, frowning a bit while she seems to consider something carefully, "Look, don't get me wrong. It's not that I'm trying to control how the conversation goes. I just want the chance to speak my mind. Let me tell you my version of things and you can step in whenever you want."

In a little while, her pacing stops as she returns, choosing another rock to sit down, this time beside you, at arm's length, "I'm sure you agree there's no better way to do this than to start from the beginning."

She hoists herself to sit in a comfortable position, feet dangling loose above the ground. Her face is still serious and her eyes stray to the lake, "Sometime after you arrived at Hogwarts, I noticed that you were paying a lot of attention to me. It was unexpected. Very unexpected. At first, I shook it off as my imagination playing tricks on me, but days went by and there were too many coincidences to ignore them altogether."

Hermione shakes her head and turns to look at you, "I honestly doubted there could be any good intentions behind your actions, so I was awful to you. That's the first apology I want to make. I'm not one to trust easily and I'm sorry for giving you such a terrible welcome here."

You don't let your stare last long, hoping to keep her at ease, but it's enough to let you see the eager honesty in her eyes, "I noticed zat you were always scowling at me. No one else earned zat from you, not even ze uzzer students from my school. It took me some time to realize I was intruding on your routine and 'ow it bothered you. After I tried to be more distant, I zink it was not so uncomfortable."

She quickly counters your comment, "Don't say it like that. I never noticed anything impolite from you, Fleur. You were respectful and considerate, even friendly, in a reserved way. It was your insistence on being always just... _there_ that made me suspicious, that's all. And yes, when you gave me more space, things felt less strained for me."

You nod in understanding, "I see. My apologies, zen, for being too... intense, maybe. What made you change your mind?"

It's easy to tell by her lighter tone of voice that she's smiling now, "That short discussion we had when you joined SPEW. You made a few comments I couldn't forget."

One of your eyebrows arches up, "Which ones?"

At this, she shuts her eyes briefly, perhaps organizing her thoughts or pondering her next words, "There were several. We discussed a lot about why wizards shouldn't feel it was alright to take advantage of the humble nature and hard-working streak of house-elves... That the traits of their race were there to help give them a sense of identity, not make it easier for others to exploit them."

You consider her last statements and finally agree, "I remember. We were of ze same opinion."

The brunette smiles again, "I know. At the time you were quite enthusiastic on those parts. I could tell it annoyed you a lot. Even passing students stopped to listen to your arguments."

A lasting silence stretches for a while until she tilts her head and maneuvers things in a different direction, "Since we're talking about first impressions, I could never understand why someone like you wanted to get to know me."

Something about how she phrased that puzzles you, "Someone… _like me_... And zat means?"

"You know... The champion of another school... Someone with your skills... and looks... A senior girl..." Her blush steadily intensifies at each added remark, while her voice dwindles to a barely audible murmur. She then clears her throat rather loudly and tries to change the focus back to you in a steadier voice, though still flashing a bright pink, "Can you tell me what made you notice me, of all people?"

You answer without giving it half a thought, running an idle hand through your hair, "Zat is an easy question. Books. It was 'ow I noticed you in ze first place."

She gives you an incredulous look, "Books? How exactly did that go?"

Your mind drifts to early memories of this school and the brunette, "You know I did not come to 'Ogwarts for ze tour. Far from it. What earned me a place in zat carriage was ze Tournament. My family felt proud zat I would represent Beauxbatons. My 'Eadmistress was very supportive. I am sure you must 'ave seen 'ow ze uzzer students from my school were disappointed at not being chosen champions. So after ze decision from ze Goblet, I gave it my best efforts. Zat meant spending 'ours and 'ours in ze library to prepare."

"Yes, I saw you there a lot. We were not speaking to each other, yet, though," she states matter-of-factly.

Nodding, you carry on, "Zere were many times when I looked for specific books on ze shelves and I did not find zem, nor were zey on loan, according to Madam Pince. At ze end of ze days, most of zose books were neatly stacked on a table deep in ze library. Always an organized pile of books, always on ze same table. I was surprised by zat and started to check not only ze books I wanted, but also ze uzzers in ze stack. Most of zem were on advanced magic. Some 'ad to do wiz 'ouse-elves. And I often stumbled upon ''Ogwarts: A 'Istory', too."

You notice she's blushing a soft pink again, as you speak. "I expected to find a senior student sitting zere, maybe even one of ze uzzer champions. But when I finally discovered who used zat table, it was not as I expected. Instead of a senior student or a champion, I found... _you_." Your lips stretch into a small smile at the memory, "It was 'ard to believe. I 'ad to look again on different days until I was convinced. You really were ze one who used all zose books and studied magic too advanced for your year in school and your age. Zis made me curious."

Her eyes remain fixed on the ground, "So you asked around about me? You seemed to know a lot about my timetable, what I did, who I spent time with, even where I went."

Frowning, you shake your head and explain, "Non. I did not want to ask anyone. It could start foul gossip and I zought it was better to avoid zat. Ze zings I overheard were your name and ze part everyone said about you being ze best student 'Ogwarts 'ad seen in a long time. Everything else was simple observation."

As the words pour out, you relive the still vivid mental images, in a quick trip back in time, "At first, I only knew you liked to stay in ze library for 'ours to read and do 'omework. After zat, I noticed uzzer zings you did, like campaign for ze 'ouse-elves and 'elp 'Arry on ze Tournament. Zen I started to watch your friends and 'ow you all got along. I read zat book on 'Ogwarts to understand about ze four 'Ouses and what being a Gryffindor meant... You can see zat it was a sequence of small zings. One led to anuzzer, zat led to ze next, and soon I was noticing _you_, ze charming girl who did all zat, who was behind all zat. Before I realized when, why or 'ow, I could not stop zinking about you. All of it made me want to get to know you better. I just did not know 'ow to come to you." You finish in a hoarse and weak voice, your throat feeling gritty and quite dry.

You keep your eyes trained on the lake, unable to muster enough courage to address Hermione directly. She remains silent, though, and as time passes, it starts to feel awkward and difficult to bear. Finally risking a glance at your companion, she's biting her lip and shyly tucking away a few locks of her curly hair, almost completely concealing her face from you. Her reaction nearly makes you cringe. How much can you really tell her? How much can she handle?

Clearly, it's up to you to do something about the lasting silence. "You look bothered, 'Ermione. Did I say too much?"

She asks in a small voice, "Is it the truth?"

Your reply carries a surprised and slightly indignant tone at that question, "Oui, but of course. 'Ow could I lie about it?"

Smiling, she shakes her head, chuckling at your reaction, and then locks eyes with you, "Then I definitely want to know about it, Fleur. I had no idea of any of this."

You remain silent, appraising her. This far, the conversation seems a bit jumpy, but still flowing reasonably well. You only hope it stays like that.

There's a lot of hesitation inside you and you're not sure this is good timing, but you finally decide to go for it and reach out to squeeze her hand, which feels a little cold, "An 'onest talk, non?"

Surprisingly, she doesn't pull hers away, "Yes, please." A soft squeeze back is her swift response, breaking contact soon after.

She rubs her hands together for a while, and then stretches her arms to pick up her rucksack. Pulling out a red and gold scarf, she sets it on her lap to cover her hands, sometimes wrapping it around them.

Once ready, she starts again, moving on, "Well, shortly after that, we finally met at the library and talked for a little while. I didn't know why you were being so evasive with the Yule Ball, so I assumed the worst. I thought you were criticizing Hogwarts and I had this urge to defend my school. I pushed and pulled until I got answers from you and they weren't what I had expected." She sighs before adding, "That night I began to wonder if there was more to you trying to talk to me than I had considered."

This pales you a bit, "Oui, I wondered if you 'ad zought about zat before. It could be quite a surprise for you. Probably not in a good way. Please understand zat I was trying not to pressure you. I lacked ze courage to say anything on my own and I would 'ave still kept zat to myself if you 'ad not been so insistent."

She nods, fiery brown orbs trained on you, not missing a single of your words, "I know, but I wasn't going to stop until you gave me a straight answer. The more you refused to tell me, the more I would've insisted."

Her voice carries on, distant and soft, wavering here and there, "That night changed things between us. In a way, I think it changed us. Well, maybe no, not really... You didn't change at all, since you were finally being yourself. But it definitely changed me."

You watch her closely, realizing the heaviness in her features and the anxious way her hands fidget with that scarf. It's enough to make your stomach sink low.

And now she resorts to whispering, "I hadn't suspected a thing, Fleur. Until that night, I had never thought of you like that. And afterwards... it was all I had in my mind. That was the first of many sleepless nights for me."

You swallow thickly and your heart thumps faster. Okay, you are now officially mortified. All this time you'd been worrying mostly about your own situation, thinking she just didn't want to deal with you. Until now, you hadn't considered the possibility that she could've been going through a rough ride herself.

In your sudden uneasiness, a prickling sensation starts to spread over your back, shoulders and nape. It's a strong and focused tingling, different from what you've experienced this far. The unpleasant currents crawl deep and you can sense the tensing of muscles in their path.

The brunette becomes quiet and her face is unreadable. Even though you rake your brain for anything to reply that could have a positive effect over what she just said, your search turns out empty, so you keep your silence and let her decide how to proceed from here. Distractedly, you stretch your arms and back to relax some of the twitching fibers.

Trying to find a good distraction and give her some time to herself, you reach out for your bag. Opening it, you aimlessly go through its inner pockets, until you remember a box of small assorted chocolate bars and toffees that Gabrielle sent you, plus another one of some of your favorite peppermint sticks. They are all richly flavoured and something tells you that a small dose of sugar into your systems is more than welcome now. You take the boxes out, leave your bag close to the books again and set the sweets between you, on the rock you're sitting.

Curiously, she takes a look inside and smiles, stretching a rather unsteady hand for a serving. You pick a chocolate bar as well to distract yourself, nibbling the dark candy and trying to savour the treat calmly, although your crunching stomach is not helping one bit.

She then starts to swing her feet back and forth, tapping her ankles lightly against the rock, probably to calm down. Regaining her voice, she starts again, "I guess it wasn't easy for you, either, since you were quick to try to talk to me at breakfast. Honestly, a part of me hoped that you'd be a complete _git_ then. If you said or did something really foolish, I could finally have a good excuse to go raving mad and forget all about you. "

Hermione shakes her head, looking down, "I remember people were staring at you all over the Great Hall and not one of my friends gave you a warm welcome. But still, you didn't go away. You just stood right there, in front of me, and I couldn't find words to talk to you."

"I 'ave to interrupt," you make room for a small intervention right then. "Why? Why would you not talk to me?"

Hermione gives you a pained look, "Sorry, Fleur. I have to deal with my own problems. That's something I can't share with you. Not now."

The answer frustrates you to no end, but there's nothing to do about it. The resolve in her voice is final. You make a mental note to find another opportunity and ask again until the answer comes.

Despite her efforts, she can't completely conceal her growing discomfort. The brunette seeks another toffee and her fingers play with the wrapper, idly tying it into countless tight knots as she speaks, "When it became unbearable, I finally looked at you. It was then that I knew you weren't there to be any type of git. You actually... cared. You were worried sick. And it made things all the worse for me. I was prepared to put up a fight with an insensitive Fleur in front of the entire school, but I wasn't ready to face a concerned Fleur and have a real talk to fix things. I didn't know what to do or how to be myself in front of you anymore... And I guess you probably thought I was upset or that I wanted to stay away from you, right?"

By now you're wondering how many degrees of queazy you must look. You close your eyes and turn your face away from her, "Oui, zat was what I zought. Both options."

She sighs sadly, eyes lost ahead on a bunch of loose leaves caught in a weak whirlwind, until her attention slowly returns to you and she hums a reply, "Mm-hmmm. Which makes perfect sense, since you disappeared from the face of the Earth for weeks... _I_ was the problem, not you. It took me the longest time to sort through my own thoughts and feelings until I put myself together again, until I believed I could try to talk to you. I want to apologize for this, too. All that time... It must have been dreadful for you. I am so sorry, Fleur."

You only give her a blank look, "It seems zat it was a lot for you to 'andle."

She shakes her head slowly, her posture a bit rigid and her eyes locked away on the lumps of snow right beyond the limits of your little warm spot, "I had it coming, Fleur. I should have been better prepared."

A quizzical glance from you is dismissed with a wave of one of her hands, "Please, don't press this... Anyway, for a long time my mood was all kinds of wrong. My friends pretended not to notice at first, until they couldn't hide their concern anymore and started to ask awkward questions. Every day felt like a new challenge. But the worst were the nights, when there was nothing to distract me. I had hours and hours to think by myself."

With unfocused eyes, she bites her lower lip and rubs her hands. She remains lost in her own mind for a few moments, before adding in a low tone, "I was in the middle of dealing with all of that when the Yule Ball happened. That night I had to especially spell my make-up to hide my puffy eyes and the purple rings under them. And to top it all, after all those weeks this was the first chance I'd get to see you again. I didn't have a clue on how it would go. It made me curious, scared and nervous at the same time... It was a hard blow to finally be in the same room as you and notice how sad you were."

You frown at that, "You knew I was going to spend ze night wiz a date I did not wish to 'ave, and zat you would be wiz someone else. Why were you surprised to find me less zan 'appy?"

She crosses her legs and shivers. You notice the warming charms are wearing off, so you pull out your wand and repeat the spell around you, immediately feeling the renewed rise in temperature.

Nodding shortly in appreciation, she continues, "Well, I surely didn't suppose you'd be euphoric, Fleur. But that sadness was so intense that it seemed to come off in waves from you."

This is no news to you and your tone is nonchalant, "Ze charms. You were sensing my feelings at ze time."

She looks surprised, "How so? I thought the charms were some kind of extra perception of yours."

You shake your head a few times, "Ze charms work both ways. Zey 'elp me sense emotions from uzzers, be more perceptive about ze ones around me, but zey are also a projection of my own feelings. It is a bit complex to explain. At ze Ball ze charms expressed my poor emotional state. Since you were already sad, ze extra effect from ze charms could 'ave added wiz your own. Perhaps zat was what made you cry at ze Entrance 'All, non?"

The brunette stops to consider this before answering. She sighs, looking tired and drained, "I'm not sure. Too many things were piling up over the evening. It wasn't amusing to see you that sad, being with Viktor was not what I had expected, and the fight with Ron was the definite downturn of the night. After that, I didn't think that you'd worry enough to come looking for me. I hadn't expected to spend time alone with you like that. Maybe the charms were the final push to my break down at that moment. Maybe not. I don't know. I never understood why it happened."

"Je suis désolée," you reply, lowering your head. "I zink it is ze best explanation. So it was my doing, zen."

Unexpectedly, you feel a soft warmth on your right hand and you look up, startled, realizing that Hermione has wrapped it in one of her own, while looking at you seriously, "Well, you were also the one that fixed it, Fleur. While you held me I felt calm and protected, like nothing bad could ever reach me. There wasn't sadness anymore. I forgot about any worries, fears or anxiety. It was peaceful as I hadn't felt in a very long time. I'm sorry I didn't give you a straight answer before, but that was the best part of the Ball for me. Just sharing that moment with you."

You look at her for a long while, finally stating in a low voice, "It is nice to know zat. Zank you for telling me."

She nods and keeps straight ahead, retracting her hand back to the scarf, "And that brings us to that meeting during the holidays. The corridor with all the broken vases." She sighs, "I'd never thought of myself as someone that could be so terrible to handle words until that day. Honestly, if I hadn't been there, I wouldn't believe I'd ever make such a blunder."

Your lips scrunch in a tight mesh, "Zings got out of hand. I made my own share of... blunders."

Tentatively, she hesitates a few times before actually speaking, choosing her words, "I told you I hated how things are between us now and I said that-"

You tense instantly, trying hard not to look at her, "-you wanted normal... I remember."

She appraises you, half-curious, half-peeved, "And you react the same way, even a week after it happened."

Ruffling your hair and gritting your teeth, you're doing what you can to try and keep your temper and voice from rising, replying a bit coldly, "You expect me to take it well now? Perhaps because it was a few days ago?"

She pinches the bridge of her nose and clearly makes an effort of her own to stay calm, "No, I would never expect you to accept something like that from anyone. Certainly not from me. I don't even know what you thought _not normal_ meant."

You shrug, not sure of what to answer, "I did not understand, but ze words stung just ze same. Perhaps it was because we are both girls. Or it could be about my Veela makeup."

Taking a deep breath, she fully turns to look at you, "I see... Now your prejudice comment and the whole SPEW badge thing make sense. Well, I don't have any issues with you being part-Veela. It would make me a lousy promoter of house-elf welfare if I thought so poorly of magical beings other than wizards. And you shouldn't forget I get to taste a bit of prejudice myself every now and then. I'm called _Mudblood_ by a few Slytherins that think too highly of their pure-blood status."

Your eyebrows lift considerably at that, "You... are muggle-born?"

Hurt pride flares in her tone of voice now, "Yes, I am! Is that a problem?"

You frown and straighten your back into a stiff posture, clearly making known your disgust at the mere suggestion of that, "Non, of course not. I just did not know it. You 'ave amazing magical abilities and I never wondered about your lineage. Few students at Beauxbatons are muggle-born. It seems to be more common 'ere."

She looks at you curiously, "Mm-hmmm... Well, to end this for good, I never had a problem with you liking girls."

Shaking your head, you correct her at once, "I do not like _girls_. I like _one_ girl. Zat is ze reason for all zis chaos, since zat particular girl 'appens to be you."

A shy glance sets on you and you give her a determined look that says it all. "That's... an interesting way of putting it."

Moving your eyes back to the lake, you pause briefly, and then reply with ease, "Non, zat is ze only way of saying it. _Zat_ is simply ze truth."

She sighs and you have to wonder if that exchange shakes a bit her resolve. Her voice quivers slightly and she continues without acknowledging your last phrase, "I needed to tell you that you got it all wrong that day. Things were not what I had meant to say and I never had a chance to finish what I started."

You nod curtly, "I am listening now."

Realizing her voice is filled with a renewed fire, you brace yourself for what may turn out to be another bumpy ride, "None of this should be happening with us. Hate is a strong word, I know, but I really hate how we only antagonize each other now. I hate that I can't walk right up to you whenever I see you or whenever I feel like it and just talk about anything. I hate that I never got to tell you how much I worry about you being in that horrible Tournament. For weeks I've been daily hating the fact that you avoid me like I have dragonpox or something worse, even though you could clearly see how much I tried to talk to you."

You pick a peppermint treat, taking extra time to actually unwrap and taste it, stalling, while you run her words over and over in your mind, to get their full meaning, "After our talk at ze library, I stayed away because it seemed to be what you wanted. And zen came ze Ball, and zis time I was ze one who did not feel like talking to you. I know you 'ave every right to choose what is best for yourself, Mademoiselle, and so it seemed zat you 'ad made a choice. All zat was left for me to do was try to accept it."

Her brow unwrinkles and arches up in mild surprise, her voice softening unexpectedly, "It doesn't add up. If you thought you had to accept Viktor and me, why wouldn't you at least talk to me, then?"

"Accepting it does not mean enjoying it as well," you argue swiftly. "It may sound selfish, but I did not 'ave ze will to endure being a witness to the newest couple in ze school. I tried to be polite enough to never refuse to greet you both at ze grounds or in ze castle in front of uzzer people, but when I saw zat you wanted to talk to me alone, it was asking too much of me. And, for ze record, I still doubt you are serious about 'im."

Her eyebrows jump up and she outright laughs at that, "You have guts, I'll give you that." Shaking her head and smirking, she chooses a teasing tone, "You must be really distracted these days, Fleur. Didn't you see the hole in that reasoning of yours, yet?"

Tilting your head, your eyes narrow a bit, "I did not get zat. What do you mean?"

With a soft chuckle, she deadpans, "You talk about Viktor and I as a couple. Just think about it a little. What does it say about me if I'm with Viktor and I end up almost kissing you..." Her face flushes crimson at this point, "... or letting you kiss me, whatever... in a lonely corridor high up in the castle during the holidays? Granted, I didn't have the nerve to go through with it, but still..."

You stare at her, blankly. Are you really hearing this straight?

She watches your confusion with growing amusement. "You knew something was off and you more or less called my bluff, but you didn't push it much. Or maybe you were too caught up in your own struggles and got sidetracked."

You can't make out what she's trying to tell you and you know it's obviously stated in your features.

After a short pause that she thoroughly enjoys watching you, she finally offers, "I'm not with Viktor, Fleur. In a way, you were right all along. I was never in a relationship with him. Or anyone else, for that matter."

This was sure to get your attention. Your eyebrows lift in a flash and you try hard to keep your chin in place and not gape in the most silly of ways. In your present awestruck state, you can barely speak, "Wa-_what_?"

A very small smile finds its way on her lips, "Yes, it's the truth, though nobody knows about it."

A deep frown creases your forehead, "But you are always together since ze Ball."

Her voice is neutral, "No, we're not. He only asked me to be seen with him for a while until the holidays were over. It was all for show so his fanclub would leave him alone. It went on until the following weekend and that was it."

You still frown. There's no way that you can blank out the memory of that kiss you witnessed at the Ball, "'Ermione, 'ow can you not be or not 'ave been tog-?"

Surprising you, she quickly covers your mouth with a couple of fingers, giving you an intense look, "Do you think you can trust me, Fleur?"

You consider her words carefully and finally nod a few times, slowly.

"Then, please, believe me." Retrieving her hand, she keeps a heated stare on you, "No matter what you might have heard, what you saw or what you think you saw, I am not with Viktor Krum, nor do I wish to be with him. He asked me to help him a bit and I agreed at first."

In a low voice, you still venture weakly, "So even zat is over?"

She only shrugs as if it was of no importance, "Yes. I already talked to him. After our conversation during the weekend I thought it was best to stop that. Things were becoming too confusing between you and me."

Your brain starts to spin. She was concerned about the two of you? It's quite hard keeping up with the sequence of news.

Noticing your shock, she continues, seriously, "Also, Fleur, I want to make one thing clear to you, since it annoyed me greatly that you got the wrong idea... If I _were_ dating someone, that test of yours would _never_ have happened. I would've put up an unbelievable fight before letting you anywhere near me, fake experiment or not. Can you understand that?"

You nod repeatedly, feeling very uncomfortable, "You also 'ave to understand zat I do not go around doing zat to people. Actually, I 'ad never done zat before. I was proving my argument to you and I did not 'ave much faith on what was going on between you and Mr. Krum."

She gives that some thought and offers a small and brief smile, "Fair enough. I never thought much about it, anyway. Your intentions extended only to me. That much was clear."

Still surprised, you press on the same direction simply because you feel the need to hear it once more, "So... You are not wiz 'im... It is really true?"

Her answer comes as slow nods, not looking at you.

Something starts to feels odd and you notice a change in her, an escalating anxiety. It's even affecting _you_ to sense her growing discomfort, and you take a few calming breaths, aiming for a blank mind.

Maybe the best you can do to help is try to talk her out of whatever tight spot she is in at the moment. In a steady voice, you steer the conversation ahead, "'Ermione, why tell me zis now?"

She barely hesitates, "I should've told you long ago, Fleur. I just wasn't prepared to handle the things that could come from this. I'm surprised you're still even talking to me when I've turned you down so many times. You kept trying, even though you didn't know if there was a chance I could like a girl that way, if I'd ever want anything with you."

Without even noticing it, you've been tightly wringing your hands for quite a while. Slowly, you break them apart and put a book on your lap, letting your fingers run through its engraved cover to keep them busy. "Zat is one of ze reasons I was so clumsy about 'ow to approach you since ze beginning. I never 'ad to do zis before. Ze problem wiz us was zat zings only got worse and we moved farther and farther apart. Any chance to talk about it kept getting 'arder."

"I see…" She stays silent for a long while, apparently making up her mind. "Well, there are a few things still left for me to tell you."

She looks at you searchingly, waiting for some indication that you are okay with that. You give her a reassuring nod and the brunette proceeds, with obvious caution, "I think you are perfectly normal, Fleur. It was a bad choice of words, but when I said I wanted normal, I meant I needed to have that with you. I wanted _us_ to go back to normal. To be alright together."

Biting her lower lip, she lets out a shaky breath before going on, "I grew tired of all that staying away and the bickering. It's downright frustrating when we could do so much better. We haven't even spent that much time together, I know, but I miss that with you. I miss _you_. A lot."

You can't hold down the anxiety at seeing her like this, while still listening intently at her every word. Her voice finally comes out in a strangled whisper that you almost have to bend closer to catch, "It came out all wrong, but that weird part of the conversation was my silly attempt at trying, really trying, to find a way to tell you what I didn't want to keep to myself anymore."

She then gives you such a heartfelt look that the concept of breathing completely falls out of your brain. After a long breath, she speaks softly, "Fleur, I... I like you back."

Your eyes widen impossibly and your heart swells close to bursting point. Remaining silent, you can only stare, transfixed and stunned beyond your wits.

"I've been sure of that for quite a while now." She rubs a hand nervously over her forehead a few times, still having a hard time speaking in more than a broken voice, "A part of me... no, let me correct that... a very large part of me is terrified by that. I can't put into words exactly how scared I am, even if it's something I do not want to deny any longer."

"But I asked and you said you were not scared," you somehow blurt out through your current state of bafflement.

She sighs and continues, "I'm not scared of you, Fleur. That's what you'd asked. I'm scared of what I feel, of how much I feel about you in so little time, of what that all means. This changes so much in my life and in so many ways that I'm completely lost. I've never been through anything like this before. Honestly, I don't know what to do. Or how to cope with what I feel. I don't know how to be with you."

Her distress is so tangible, so real, that it's nearly ripping you apart. You open your mouth, trying to form words and actually say them out loud. It's in vain. You try again a few times and you're pretty sure that your feeble attempts mustn't be very impressive. Or what she needs right now.

She rubs her hands together a little, and then folds the scarf on her lap, setting them there. You slowly reach out to hold one and she meets it halfway. Noticing hers is exceedingly cold and trembling, you stroke it for a long while, glancing calmly at her every now and then as you wait for some of the warmth from your hand to spread to hers.

Debating with yourself whether to stand and offer at least a hug or remain like this, a tug at your hand catches your attention and you look at her. "No, it's alright, Fleur. Don't worry so much. I just needed to say it all for once."

You raise an eyebrow at that and she smiles, "You have the same look you had at the Ball. I can guess what you wanted to do. Thank you for thinking about it, but I have to learn to manage on my own, too."

Hiding away any traces of how worried you feel about her, you volunteer carefully, "You are very anxious now, 'Ermione. Is zere anything zat I can do to 'elp?"

She simply shakes her head. "You already have, Fleur. All afternoon. Being here with you to talk about this definitely helps me. I never had the nerve to tell anyone else and I thought you should be the first to know, anyway."

Her discomfort goes on and in a low voice you ask her something that has started to bother you, "'Ermione, do you wish zis was not 'appening? Zat you did not 'ave to deal wiz zis? Is it why you are reacting like zat?"

Her voice becomes steadier now, "No, that's something I could never wish. I told you before that I had it coming. In past years I often thought about my reactions to other people. Not only boys. Girls, too. Being there for my friends and burying my mind in books were some of my ways to avoid wondering so much. I kept putting off dealing with this."

She sighs and pauses a bit. "Still, I know myself, Fleur. The questions were always there. They simply jumped to the forefront when I had to consider the possibility of _you_. All this time, I tried hard to make you give up, to find out your true intentions. And look where we are now... I may not be any closer to knowing what to do, but now I understand that I like you. I accept that, and I trust you, too."

"So, zis... us... is something you want." It was meant as a question, but it comes out as a statement.

And the best part is that she doesn't dodge from it, replying firmly, "Yes, I want this."

In that moment your starved lungs finally manage to fully process air and fill without limits, while a dash of solace stretches deep to your core. Merlin, what a rollercoaster ride.

"'Ave you given some zought to what or 'ow you want to do zis?"

She nods slowly, "What would you say about we starting over? Starting properly, I mean. I want to get to know you better and I'd really like to see where things go between us. You must be a little curious, too."

You give her a winning smile, "Oui, I am. Starting over would be great."

Her answer comes in the shape of a beautiful smile, but it doesn't last long. "I need to be honest with you, Fleur. I still have some issues to figure out and my fair share of insecurities. Are you really fine with us giving it a try?"

You squeeze her hand, rubbing her soft skin smoothly, "If we are going to do zis, we might as well do it right. 'Ow about we give it our best, instead of only a try?"

Pink-stained cheeks and a shy smile make for an even better reply than you could've expected. "I think we can work on that."

You give her hand a last squeeze and pull yours away, fully aware that she needs a chance to steady herself again. From the anxious and somewhat wary way she is looking at you, either she doesn't know what to do or what to expect now that you're both out in the open with each other. Or perhaps she thinks you're about to put some sort of wild pressure on her and just try to rush into things. That's probably why she stopped you from going closer before.

Pointing at the boxes of sweets and picking one for yourself, you drive the conversation to a neutral topic, "You look like you can use a bit of zese, 'Ermione. I zink I do, too."

You unwrap another small chocolate bar slowly and taste a biteful before arguing on, "Zat was a much needed conversation, but it is time to relax a little from all ze stress, non? We 'ave 'ad some complicated weeks lately. Zis might be a good moment for some of ze reading we were supposed to do today. What do you zink?"

Her relief is undeniable and a huge grin widens out as she speaks, now sounding a lot more confident, "That would be great right now."

She chooses a chocolate bar as well and starts to nip away slowly, contentment clearly written all over her face as she sets to wrap the scarf around her neck and pick up her large tome. Her sincere reaction at the chance of loosening her mind within the familiar boundaries of a book makes you chuckle. She's just so true to herself that you can't help but find it endearing.

A few minutes later, you're both settled with large books across your laps. The box of chocolates is becoming more and more empty and it takes only a few stolen glances at her to notice the brunette is slowly going back to her comfort zone.

The major difference between you now is that she is spending most of the time reading intently, while your attention is completely elsewhere and your fingers do the occasional page-turning to keep appearances.

It'd be lovely to quit this fake pretense at reading. Your eyes have remained locked on the same line over and over again, while your brain has yet to grasp the meaning of that sequence of words. You wish you'd packed your sketchbook in your bag so you could use it right now, letting your hands work on their own as your brain had the freedom to drift at will.

Bits and parts of the conversation you shared before are insistently running back and forth in your mind, piecing together a puzzle you'll need to unravel down to its minimal details.

Your focus is far, far away, still wrapped around the girl sitting this close, when your musings are interrupted by an unexpected question. "What are you reading?"

Startled and wondering if she's caught on to your distant train of thought, you choose to remain silent and show her both of your current books. Her curious eyes run loosely over the leather covers, reading the titles quickly, and then she eagerly asks, "May I take a look?"

"Zese would interest you?" is your surprised reply.

She nods at once, "Yes. There aren't any good books about Veela at the library."

You turn to look at her and she visibly cringes, realizing what she just admitted to have done. With a sympathetic smile, you only nod and reply, "Oui, I know. I searched ze library for books as well. Zere are few and zey are not very accurate. My muzzer packed zese for me. I am about to finish reading one of zem, 'Veela - Physiology and Magic.' You can check ze uzzer while I complete zis one and zen you are free to take it wiz you to read whenever you 'ave ze time."

She barely contains her enthusiasm at the opportunity, "Really? I mean, it looks like a very good book. Aren't you going to need it?"

With a nonchalant tone and a shrug, you tell her the plain truth, "Non, I am nearly done wiz it. I find it is more theory-oriented and I already learned all zat I could from it. If I 'ave to check it again in ze future, I will ask you about it. Ze uzzer book deals wiz practical Veela magic and I need it more now."

Her eyes are glinting with anticipation, "Thanks. I'll borrow it, then, and I promise to take good care of it."

You smile and hand her 'Wandless Charmer - The Veela Within' and set the other tome before you, easily finding the correct page to resume your reading. She doesn't event try to hide the look of curious awe as she starts to fiddle through the chapters, stopping here and there for bouts of attentive reading.

You both remain engaged in your own little worlds and a quite comfortable silence stretches long. The few pages left for you to read are soon over and you close the book without a sound. It remains untouched in your lap and your eyes don't fall upon it again, settling instead on any given point of the landscape ahead that draws your short-spanned attention. Your thoughts slowly return to all that you found out from the long talk today.

The sheer honesty of it all was refreshing and, you have to admit, a bit overwhelming, too. There shouldn't be any turning back from now on. From either of you. On the other hand, the amount of questions popping in your head is quite unsettling. You can sense Hermione is scared, even if she's trying to keep a steady face and act as naturally as possible. Given a few unexpected facts you just learned, her uneasiness is understandable. Things should be taken slowly, in a way that respects her own pace.

And there's that _something_ she's not telling you that could be a new problem to overcome. Doesn't she trust you enough? Or is it something she has to solve on her own? Is she second-guessing her feelings? Is she not sure of yours?

A weak headache threatens to make an appearance, that unwanted throb testing your temples. Deciding to think a little less and stretch your legs, you leave your belongings on the rock you've been sitting on, reach for a couple of peppermint candies, smile at Hermione when she stops to see what you're doing, and walk away a bit beyond the limits of your small protected spot.

As soon as you step out of the borders of the magically conjured warmth and the barrier of the trees, a cold whiff sprints around you, picking up speed and setting your hair on a wild turmoil. You run your hands through the strands to set them in place, very aware of how stimulating it is to feel the sting of the bitter cold as the afternoon swiftly slips aways.

You walk a little farther to look at the lakeside below, leaning on the trunk of a tall and curvy tree for support. A soft breeze repeatedly blows, carrying leaves and even a few small broken twigs. Aside from that weak rustling, it's tranquil and silent, the scenery standing as still as it has since the first canvas of snow settled down, back in November.

The sun slowly sets on the horizon and you watch its last traces of gold hide behind the distant mountains. Over the following minutes, the warm colors of daylight give way to the cooler shades of blue, purple and ultimately black, dotted by the piercing glow of bright stars and the appearance of the waning moon.

Many heavy clouds travel across the sky, causing constant shifts in the amount of light that reaches down. When it becomes really dark, you start to wonder how Hermione is still managing to read anything. The bluebell flames or perhaps even a Lumos spell might not be enough to avoid eye strain.

You turn to go back and check on the brunette. Still caught in your concern, another soft waft sets some of your loose strands in play again, whipping against your neck and shoulders. You're barely distracted from your thoughts, except there's something different this time. Inhaling slowly, at once the small hairs at the back of your neck stand on end.

Pine. You groan as soon as you recognize the distinct smell, quickly grasping the trunk with both hands to steady yourself and wait for the dizziness to stop.

"I'm here. Just breathe," Hermione's voice reaches you as she holds your arm and helps you sit down. She sits beside you, an arm loosely running up and down your back, "This is the third time in less than a week that I've seen you nearly faint, Fleur, and I noticed you've been missing meals since the weekend. You should be more careful."

Slowly, your stability builds up again and you start to explain, "My lack of balance will be over soon. It is nothing to worry. And I 'ave not missed meals. I simply ate alone, in my room."

She nods a bit, apparently accepting your arguments, and then continues, "Why did you leave? Was there something wrong?"

You shrug and try to wave it off as something casual, "I wanted to walk a little bit and I got distracted wiz ze beautiful sunset. Just zinking."

Raising an eyebrow, she shoots quickly, "About?"

Tilting your head, you frown at her, believing it was quite obvious, "Many zings. Mostly some parts of our conversation today."

"You seem better now," she comments, briefly touching your neck and your forehead to check your temperature. She then engages in conversation again. "Sorry. I'm all ears. What parts did you mean?"

Tiredly, you reply, "Zose issues you said you 'ave to solve on your own, non? You 'ave never been in a relationship before and you are muggle-born, so I assume ze fact zat we are of ze same gender carries a different weight for you zan it would in ze wizarding world. It is not difficult to realize 'ow zis adds up. I zink I understand your fears, 'Ermione, and I would like you to know zat I am 'ere to 'elp in any way I can... Zat was what I 'ad in mind."

Closing your eyes, you sigh and let your head hang low. Your hair swings loosely, coming to hide a bit of your face. Shortly, you're surprised to feel a warm and hesitant hand carefully tucking a few strands behind each ear, and then slowly hooking under your chin to bring it upwards.

Your eyes snap open, taking in the sight of a concerned Hermione standing right in front of you. "Thank you. Someday I might take you up on that."

She then bites her lip, giving you a serious look, "You really care, don't you?"

"And zere you are, still 'aving doubts," you reply shaking your head and looking down, away from her. "Oui, 'Ermione, of course I care for you, but you still seem to 'ave a 'ard time believing me when I say it."

"Sorry. It wasn't meant as a question," she murmurs softly, with a small smile. "I went through a hard bit to try to figure things out when we were apart. You don't know how much time, day and night, I spent thinking about you. Or how often the mere thought of you was enough to drive me crazy. Every time we got closer, even when it seemed to go terribly wrong, I wished you actually cared. That was as far as I could take it on my own, not knowing how you really felt. But now, like this? Yes, I believe you. It's easy to see that you mean it."

You lift an eyebrow and offer the brunette a different perspective, "Perhaps you are using your brain too much and overzinking zings. It might not be ze best option 'ere."

She narrows her eyes briefly, thinking about it, and then she smiles widely, "Mm-hmm... You might have a good point there, Fleur, though it's easier said than done if you consider we're talking about me."

The corners of your mouth quirk up at the little joke. Biting her lower lip, she tentatively raises her hand and brings it closer, slowly gliding unsure fingertips over your face, in a touch so gentle that it's almost ticklish.

Her hand trembles a bit and there's a new nervousness about her, "Please, close your eyes."

Still surprised, you search her eyes and weakly ask before you comply, "What are you doing, 'Ermione?"

Her fingers continue to trace patterns of their own all across your forehead, cheeks and chin, exploring at will. Sometimes her hand cups your cheek; sometimes a single digit skitters down your nose, over the arch of an eyebrow or traces your lips. Her touch, now firmer and still so tender, sets your senses at full attention and a soft tingling under your skin follows each of her motions.

In a whispery voice, she finally answers, playfully, "I'm memorizing you, the feel of your face, like you already did to me. _Twice_, as you pointed out so well that day. Consider this the payback I'm entitled to collect. And you have to be nice and let me."

You only chuckle, "_Right_. Do I get a turn?"

She soon complains, in a light and low voice, "Shhh... Maybe later, we'll see. And don't open your eyes."

There's no way you'll miss the chance to tease a little, "Why not?"

Her tone is now serious and she keeps her voice very low, as if those words were an absolute secret, meant only for you and not to be shared with anyone else, not even carried away in the wind, "Because when you look at me this close you see things inside me that I can't even find the words to explain. I feel completely exposed to you, in a way I never was before. Just... let me get used to this, alright?"

You nod quietly, only wondering how such a soft caress has the effect of both bringing this much warmth to your skin and also be so soothing. This definitely feels like heaven. You lean into her touch, ever so slightly, and barely breathe, conscious that anything can spoil the moment.

Her movements stop all of a sudden and she speaks in a hushed and alarmed voice, "Fleur, look... I mean, your skin. It's... Is it shining?"

You open your eyes at once and take a look, confirming that she's right. The brunette is a little startled and wide-eyed, but she's clearly also waiting for your reaction to see if this is something that needs worrying about. You smile a little to relax her, "Anuzzer small change. I wondered when zis was going to 'appen."

Astonishment is bursting from her, "_Another_? I have the feeling you're not telling me everything. What's going on with you? Fleur, are you really alright?"

You nod in assurance, "I am simply growing up, 'Ermione. Zis is 'ow it 'appens to Veela. You already guessed most of it, wiz my different brand of magic and ze pheromones. A few uzzer zings will show up in time. Zis is only one more. You 'ave a good eye for detail."

Standing up, you take a few steps towards a cluster of nearby trees, moving your hand from under the moonrays to a shadowy spot and back a few times. The contrast makes it easier to notice the effect now. "It is a soft 'ighlight, see? Ze skin shows a faint glow at night zat is silvery in color. It can only be seen up close and under ze moonlight. Zere are a select few Veela zat take on a golden gleam wiz sunlight, but it is very, very rare."

She walks over and holds your hand to examine it closely, carefully paying attention to each finger, the palm and the back of the hand, trailing the expanse of skin up to the wrist, where the long sleeve of your robes stops any further progress.

"It's so pretty," she states dreamily, finally calming down and turning to face you. She is standing on slightly uneven grounds, so despite your small height difference, her eyes are now almost at the same level as yours.

Once again she tucks your hair away so that her stare has unrestrained access to you. Her eyes search for any and all details, until she whispers with a hint of surprise, "The color of your eyes is different, too. They look silver. I don't think I've ever seen that color in anyone's eyes before."

While she's talking and looking at will, you only stare back and enjoy the opportunity to feast into those chocolate depths that unveil so much wonder and spirit, feeling glad that she seems to be more relaxed. Her expression is curious and serene, not anxious anymore.

She quietly retreats a little and looks at you with such fondness that your heart drums out of beat. Her hands reach up again and gently cup your face. Thumbs that seem more confident caress your cheekbones while she breathes gently, "You look like an angel."

With cheeks burning under her hands at the unexpected compliment, you can guess the intensity of your blush as your dry throat puts together the remainders of your voice to murmur back, "Zat was what I zought of you at ze Ball. More zan ever, you were breathtaking, zen. I was stunned ze moment I saw you at ze top of ze stairs."

She smiles at this, leaning forward, and you notice a new determination guiding her actions. Fascinated and almost unable to believe it, you only watch thunderstruck as her face comes near, until the softest set of lips brush against your own, delicately and only once, halting any further efforts at conversation. It is brief and light, no more than a ghost touch, but still enough to get your heart beating madly and your stomach in a twist, and then her forehead rests on yours while she seems to catch her breath, still grazing your cheeks in that smooth touch.

Your limp arms finally snap to attention and wrap around her, offering shelter and bringing her closer still. The now familiar tingling spreads all through your skin and you can feel it building up on the way to your fingertips. Your hands begin a soothing stroke and the tingles fade into her back as small ripples of warmth, soon rewarded by what sounds like a pleased sigh.

After a short hesitation, she angles her head and the delicate lips slowly return to claim yours. Heartbeat pounding in your ears, you can't get over the fact that she is really doing this. Your eyes flutter shut and you lose yourself in the string of her timid kisses, noticing that each of them lingers longer than the one before, growing hungrier, bolder. You respond meekly, caught up in the swirl of your raging emotions, giving her the chance to take full control at her own pace, to be comfortable about this.

At last, her curious lips stay locked and start an eager and drawn-out massage. She took her time, and now she finally wants more from you. They part and close around one of yours, pulling softly to lure you. All thoughts are pushed aside as you move to match her kiss, molding into her and trying to imprint each detail into your memories. The smooth sets of lips greedily explore, graze and hold, mend and mix. In the sweetest caress, they tenderly learn how to slow dance together.

This is all you imagined it would be. The polite shyness at first, the slow getting acquainted, the heat and adrenaline running freely through your systems, the thrill and delight of finally being able to do this to the one you've cherished for so long and after so many ups and downs along the way. All the time apart, the not getting along, and those awkward misunderstandings slowly fade away into a past that now seems more distant than ever, much less important than only a moment ago.

When she starts to slow down and get ready to break apart, you never have the chance to protest before she swiftly releases your lips altogether and pulls away, her hands gliding down to your shoulders. Your heart remains running wild and your brain couldn't be more lost than in this blissful haze. Her shallow and quick breaths collide against your skin, telling you that she's just as impacted as you are.

While she composes herself, it seems she is now willing to put a bit of distance between you and only the unwavering position of your arms avoids that. There's a strong reluctance on your part at letting her go, and at some point the pleading in your features must have become clear to her, for she only runs her hands up and down your arms a few times, and then they pause and settle, not seeking to further her release from the embrace.

You take a deep breath and open your eyes, quickly finding hers. Still a bit surprised, you ask in a broken voice, while your lungs are trying to remember how to do their job, "Zat... did zat... really 'appen?"

She blushes, nodding with a little uncertainty and some anxious chuckling, "I was about to ask you the same thing."

Several degrees of uneasiness become clear in the brunette. She bites her darkened lips, keeping her stare either set on your eyes, as if searching for something in them, or looking away. Small shivers now and then make her tremble visibly.

You let out a long breath and tilt your head, appraising her carefully. Trying to nudge her into more comfortable footing, you say the first thing that comes to mind, framed by the shadow of a smile, "So zat was Gryffindor courage..."

This time she nods vigorously, and her chuckles are more playful and relaxed, "_All_ of it, Fleur... You have no idea. I just used everything I had."

Openly smiling now, you lift a hand to graze her cheek with the back of your fingers. She awkwardly shifts her weight from a foot to the other, "Er... How was... Was it supposed... Was that alright? For you?"

Surprised at the eager expectancy of her questions, you answer in a reassuring voice, "Zat was amazing. I will never forget zat... your... our kiss."

She bites her lip again, frowning and retorting hastily, "Really? I mean, maybe I should've done something better. Or moved in a different way. Was the pressure right? Not too soft?"

Her ramblings are cute, especially when she is pouting like that, but you know this is not the moment to laugh. Instead, you pull out words to douse those uncertainties of hers, "'Ermione, I zink you are very expressive and passionate when you show your feelings. Zose kisses were perfect and I would not change zem in any way." You wink at her and her cheeks burn up in a crimson color. "Did zat not feel nice?"

With wide eyes she soon replies, "No, more than nice, it was the best thing ever. I didn't know that kissing could be that good or feel so right."

Shrugging, you reach to tuck a few curls away from her face, "Zen why are you so nervous?"

She avoids meeting your gaze, "There's nothing wrong, really. It's just... After all we've been through, I didn't want to disappoint you, but it doesn't help that I find you a bit… hmm… intimidating. I wasn't sure I could do it properly."

"You could never disappoint me. Please do not believe zat," you say with a smile, giving her a peck on the forehead.

"I am going to tell you a secret." Slowly, you lift her face so that your eyes latch to each other again, and then whisper, "I zink _you_ are a bit intimidating, too."

"I am? To you?" she asks, confused. "But why?"

You hold her gaze, grinning at her clear display of disbelief, "Because of 'ow I feel about you now, 'Ermione. It makes all ze difference."

She muses about it and finally nods, "Maybe you're right. I don't look at you the same way I did when I'd first seen you."

"Mm-hmmm... Zings take on anuzzer meaning now. Some become 'arder, uzzers much easier," and you take both of her cheeks in your hands and smile brightly, bringing your face forward to tease the tip of her nose with yours. "Non?"

The brunette instantly laughs and her arms enclose your waist. She lets you keep on taunting along, replaying memories from the Yule Ball, "When you did that at the Ball I almost had a heart attack."

You pull away a little, smiling as you speak, "Oui, I remember."

The clouds above part away and moonlight reaches down all over your surroundings, allowing you to see beautiful glinting sparks in her eyes. The sheer happiness flowing from the brunette is contagious and the size of that grin just begs you to stare. You can only imagine the awe stamped on your face. There's no way you would take your eyes off her now, even if you had to.

While noticing your insistent gaze, she licks her lips, rubbing fingerpads at random on the small of your back. You look intensely at those glazed and swollen lips, gliding a thumb just below their lower rim before turning your attention back up to her chocolate orbs. You must have made your intentions clear, but in a low and breathy tone you voice out the request anyway, "May I?"

Better than answering with words, she lifts her arms to wrap them around your neck, and her blushing face is now very near yours, almost melting your heart with such a simple move. You bring your hands down, back to embracing her waist, never growing tired of her alluring presence. The pull towards each other slowly narrows the small distance left and your lips meet again.

One of her hands skims to the back of your neck and small, nimble fingers comb through your hair, keeping you close. Your hands glide over and knead her back and sides, putting want and care into the gentle strokes. This time there are small smiles and teasing into the kiss, a bit of tugging and nibbling that spice things up, one taunting the other to dare more. The emotional moment builds steadily, quick to consume reason, and you're way past nervousness. Your entire world is completely pinpointed on the brunette in front of you. Nothing else matters but her, right now.

You sweep a moist tip over the meeting line of those reddened lips and she surprises you by kissing it softly, before opening herself to chase it back with her own. An outburst of sensations takes over as the kiss becomes deeper. And now you can sense all that is Hermione around you, over you, crashing into you. Her soft touch on your neck and cheek, the way her fingers tangle in your hair, the feel of her quivering back muscles under your palms, that unique scent, this new taste you're quickly becoming addicted to, the exquisite gasps that escape her parted lips as she is fully absorbed and focused on you, on here and now.

The way you react to her is absolutely maddening. You're sure that if your heart wasn't properly caged within your ribs, it would've pounded its way free and plunged away in the distance. For once, you let your charms completely loose, allowing them to spread out and envelope you, letting her know all that you are experiencing right now. She becomes more breathless and bouts of heat radiate from her, weak moans making known the intensity of her frenzied state.

After you've reached that point, it doesn't take much longer before you feel the dizziness settling in. You struggle to remain steady and try to calm down enough, but realize there's only one way to achieve that and finally start to disentangle from her. Neither wanting to end it, your lips still hover close, coming together every now and then while you try to breathe and gather your thoughts.

Once you're less shaken, you start to move apart a little, enough that you can look at her. Smiling widely at you, she is clearly panting and having a very hard time catching her breath, "What... was _that_?"

"Zat was my way of showing what you do to me," you reply between somewhat broken breaths as well. "Do you still 'ave any doubts left about if or 'ow much I like you?"

She shakes her head swiftly, "No, not at all... Fleur, I don't know what happened. I'd never reacted to your charms before, only to pheromones."

You try to chuckle, but your ragged breaths turn it into a rather unrecognizable sound. Giving up, you wait until you calm down more to give her an explanation, "Mm-hmmm. Except my charms are stronger now and wiz zese types of feelings, zings become different. Zis changes ze charms and it also changes 'ow you react to zem… You did not lose your mind, did you?"

In a serious tone she is fast to reassure you, "No, I was thinking straight all along. Well, as much as I could think when there was so much to _feel_ in a single moment. That was incredible."

Her head comes to rest on your collarbone, listening idly to your speeding heart and deep breathing. She snuggles closer to your neck and one of your hands lands on her temple, fingertips softly running through her hair and over her scalp. Inhaling deeply, you both take in the other's scent.

She sighs in contentment and you only smile, her loose curly locks now floating freely with an incoming breeze and tickling the tip of your nose, pine essence reaching you at once. It's the first time that you can enjoy the experience and still keep your mind somewhat in place. Sure, you're still a bit lightheaded, but her steady grip keeps you firmly grounded to reality.

Finally, countless minutes later, she slowly leans back to raise her arms and stretch her back, trying to stifle a yawn. Very unsuccessfully, though, and you both end up laughing. It's time to call it a night. Holding one of her hands, you make it back to the spot where you've spent the afternoon. Picking up your things, you hand her the book you'd promised before and she returns the other volume to you.

After shrinking and putting the books away, you both work on taking down the warming spells and conjured flames. The trees hide away the stars and the moon, so your wands remain in use as your Lumos spells are very necessary to breach the thick darkness.

During your long stay, more snow has melted down and, side by side, you start the trek back, which now means a careful climb up a slippery slope to the main path leading to the castle. At the very least, you proceed slowly and redouble your attention, trying to avoid incidents.

On a couple of times she almost loses her footing, but you manage to keep her standing. Once, you are the one to nearly skid over a mud puddle and she surprises you by steadying your stance with a strong grip around a wrist. It seems that the closer you are to the path, the worse the climb and the muddier the trail becomes. You make a mental note to avoid returning here for a while until the weather changes or to update your dress code to be ready to venture this safely.

Without any further surprises, you finally manage to step out of the troublesome trail and catch your breath. It was quite the exercise and you're both strained from it. You smile, glancing at her reddened cheeks, and then, horrified, realize the messy state of your probably ruined shoes. She checks her own and shrugs, shaking her head. It takes a number of spells before you're presentable again.

Smiling, she offers you one of her hands, "Come on, let's get back to that castle. Should be warmer than this and I can definitely use a good shower."

You look from the outstretched hand to her eyes and that unwavering smile, soon reaching back and interlocking your fingers. "Oui, a 'ot shower and a change of clothes would be great right now."

The well tended path to the castle makes the stroll a lot easier, so the walk back is more pleasant and faster. Hermione is right in the middle of a remark about one of the constellations in sight when you stop in your tracks and an unusual uneasiness settles at the bottom of your stomach.

You whirl around, analyzing the path and the trees rooted at its margins, checking for anything out of place. In a little while, the brunette returns to stand by your side and also looks around in silence. Everything is still and there are no sounds other than your labored breathing and the eventual crunch of shoes against stones when you risk another step.

Keeping her eyes on constant lookout, she whispers, "What is it, Fleur? Did you see something?"

You reply in the same tone, slowly, "Non. I just 'ave ze feeling zat zere is something... or maybe someone... watching us."

Not doubting you, she scans the shadows in the woods with more attention, slowly rising the tip of her wand. Yours is already high up and tightly gripped in your hand. She takes a few steps ahead, standing in front of you in a protective stance. One of our eyebrows lifts at once. Definitely, today you got to see the Gryffindor in her. Your left hand lands on her right shoulder lightly, keeping her from walking farther away and letting her know your position.

A soft waft comes at you and you sniff deeply. That's when you notice traces of a couple of hard to miss aromas. Although quite weak, they are very out of place in the middle of winter. Gardenia and agarwood... So there is someone out there. You were simply looking at all the wrong places.

Training your stare at the higher branches of the trees, you finally make out an apparently lonesome figure comfortably sitting against the trunk of a wide tree, looking down at you. It takes you a little longer to find the other one, further behind and much better concealed, crouching at the very top of another tree and carefully re-stringing a longbow, paying no attention to either of you.

Not a patch of their skin is visible, all covered by weather-resistant black outfits, including fitting pants, coats, dragon hide gloves and boots, topped by camouflage cloaks with hoods pulled over their faces. You know the attire quite well. Your own is carefully hidden in a secret compartment of your trunk.

Giving your alert companion a soft squeeze to the shoulder, you speak again, "I zink it is alright, 'Ermione. Zere is nothing to worry 'ere. It is getting late and we should go."

She nods and turns to the castle. As soon as she starts to walk away, you lower your wand and direct a courtsey to the scouts. You notice that now they're both standing and bow back, waiting for you to leave to proceed with their assigned duties. When you reach the limits of the castle and are about to enter the courtyard, you sneak a look back over your shoulder and see them diving down from the trees, disappearing in the darkness.

Fully aware now of how much the temperature has dropped, you quickly make it through the courtyard and close the remaining distance to the hidden passageway. The minimal torchlight is annoying, so your wands remain in use while you tread to the tapestry at the other end.

As you reach it, Hermione pulls out an old and folded parchment, tapping it with her wand and muttering a few words under her breath. You can't catch what she says, but you see its effects, the parchment now clearly displaying a full outline of the castle and the updated location of each of its occupants. Looking closely, you realize that the part of the grounds where you've just been is portrayed in a section of the parchment that remains folded and out of sight.

Smiling, you ask to see it and she hands it to you with enthusiasm and pride, as if she was showing you the best toy ever. Eyes roaming all over to catch even the finer details, you don't draw attention to what you're doing and carefully unfold that bit of the parchment to check out the stealthy wanderers outside. You catch two dots zooming away at a fantastic speed through the woods and now you understand what they had meant when they mentioned counting on good means of transportation to move around, even at night.

Right before they disappear beyond the edge of the parchment, you quickly read their names. One is unrecognizable to you. Not even the name of that Clan rings a bell, but you can tell it must be from some of the most Eastern countries in Europe. The leading one, on the other hand, makes your eyes narrow. A lot.

That's the kind of someone you'd barely expect to meet in your lifetime and most certainly wouldn't dream to find at Hogwarts, of all places. Considering things, now it makes a lot more sense to have detected a scent of agarwood. It is fairly rare and found almost exclusively in those of her Clan. What could she be doing here? Is it an ordinary visit or was she summoned to help the village?

Turning an amused and satisfied face to Hermione, you give her the fancy parchment, "So zis is 'ow you found me today... It is one interesting map, 'Ermione."

She takes it back and quickly starts to check the part of the parchment that displays the castle, "Well, it surely comes handy at times. This belongs to Harry, actually, but I borrowed it for the day." She bites her lip for a while, being thorough in her examination, "Hmm... The lower levels of the castle and the grounds are clear, Fleur, so you shouldn't have any problems sneaking out all the way to the carriage."

Pulling out a tightly folded cloth from her rucksack, she whisks it free, revealing a long and silky cloak, "I'll make it through the safer corridors until I reach the Common Room."

You take a look at the beautiful Invisibility Cloak, "Zis is impressive. I 'ave never seen a cloak as fine as zis one."

While you're distracted, she quickly places a palm against your stomach and gently pushes you back against a wall. You are surprised by the unexpected move and her confident take charge attitude. Her cheeks become all rosy again and she gives you a shy look, but pulls off a rather cute and smug smile, "I see I can still catch you off-guard."

Raising a challenging eyebrow, your arms encircle her tightly for that extra bit of shared warmth and affection. The size of her smile doubles, making your heart soar. You don't waste the opportunity to tease, "Zat was a bit _daring_ for you, Mademoiselle. Are you sure you are feeling alright?"

She huffs playfully and snuggles on your neck, inhaling slowly, "Mm-hmmm. Just don't forget we're trapped in a small space without proper ventilation, Fleur. I think those pheromones are making my brain fuzzy."

You rub your chin on the top of her head a few times and smile, "I apologize, but I 'ave no control over zem. Especially around you, it seems."

She nods and retreats a bit to look at you, a weak blush blossoming again on her fair skin, "We'll work something out... Anyway, this is the last place we'll have some privacy before parting ways. Ready to say 'good night'?"

A flashy grin is your only answer before reaching down for light and slow teasing pecks all over her face, until she chuckles and holds your chin softly, leaning forward to capture your lips with a newfound confidence. The kiss is sweet and also heated, with parts that spark up some memories from earlier and others that start a whole new set of sensations coursing through you.

It doesn't take too long for her to pull away, though, her breathing hard and fast against your skin. You can see she's a little dazed and shakes her head in an attempt to clear it up. Her lips keep on caressing a steady path from your jaw to the neck, and then you feel small nibbles on the fleshy long pilar down to the collarbone, instantly bringing to life countless goose bumps that you can't contain. She finally comes to a stop, running idle fingertips over your neck and wrapping her free arm around you, staying quietly like that for a long while, "You know, I think I can definitely get used to this."

You smile and hug her tightly for a while, humming in approval.

"If anyone had asked me yesterday what I'd be doing tonight, this wouldn't be even close to any of my guesses..." After a long sigh, she continues in a whisper, "I'm glad things turned out as they did."

Finally, you break apart and make it to the tapestry. In a last good-bye, you glide your hand over her jawline, "Good night, 'Ermione. Zank you for such a surprising day."

She gives your hand a little squeeze and places the cloak over her shoulders, "I enjoyed it, too, Fleur, and thanks again for the book." Lifting the corner of the tapestry, she throws a last look at you and her face lights up in a confident smile, "I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night of sleep."

You can see that she means it this time.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: After everything our cute couple endured in past chapters, this is a little reprieve. :)

By the way, this one is shorter than the last. Some of you enjoyed the monster chappy (and my friend had such a major ego boost from it that I'm wondering when I'll manage to live it down), but I'm aiming for short chapters for a while.

My huge 'thank you' to all that still follow this fic, one way or another. English hasn't been my main speaking/reading/thinking/writing language in a very, very, very, very, very long time, and it takes a lot to put each chapter together, especially long ones. Not surprisingly, one of my main motivations for writing this in the first place is to 'improve my Eenglish', to quote Fleur in all her canon flourish. There's plenty I have to work on, and your criticism helps me more than you can imagine, both positive and negative.

A special apology to those that have complained, with good reason, about my awful delay in updating. My Dad has recently undergone major surgery and these past weeks felt like we've been walking through a field of landmines, with a piece of bad news following right after the other. Radiotherapy is the next step in his near future and the family... well, let's say we're hanging in there with him the best we can. Please, be patient. This fic is far from over, but there are plenty of things going on at the same time.

COAYH has been a personal challenge in more ways than I'd ever thought it would be. At the moment, I'm grateful it's such a detour from everyday life.

* * *

><p>Chapter 7.<p>

Dawn finds you long awake and already halfway down to the castle. There wasn't a single good reason to remain in your room any further, so you're now walking alone, only leaving behind a small note to warn your companions of your absence.

Sleep evaded you for most of the night and you tried your best to relax, sketching away many of the unforgettable memories from your stay at Hogwarts. Especially some involving a certain lovely Gryffindor. Your lovely Gryffindor.

'_My girl_... Can I call her that now?'

Since yesterday, nothing could put a stop to the permanent smile that took control of your lips. You stand a bit taller, more confident, excitement bubbling up and spilling over from you, barely leaving room for anything else. There's even an extra spring in your step now. It's wonderful to be in such an amazing mood.

After all that's happened, you'll finally have some good news to send home involving Hermione and yourself. There's no guessing how your mother or father will react, but at least Gabrielle is sure to be thrilled when she learns about it.

You can almost picture your little sister's wide grin when she finds out you have a special someone now. Plus the ten thousand questions that she'll start shooting at you right away.

Chuckling out loud, you try to guess how much she'll torment poor Tonnerre into flying as fast as possible to deliver her demand for more information. That owl is never going to forget about your time at Hogwarts.

A frosty waft sobers you back to reality and you bury a trembling chin into the loose scarf around your neck. You notice the temperature is exceptionally low this morning. Absolutely freezing, to be exact. The chilly air rushes without mercy through your airways, each lungful punctuating the steady rhythm of your progress to the school. It's unexpected that the warming charms on your robes have been able to resist wave after wave of this degree of cold.

Unfortunately, the darkness barely had any chance to recede at sunrise and the sky is now already covered in thick gray clouds, probably setting the stage for one very stormy day. A faraway rumble of thunder bounces off the wall of mountains standing tall behind the castle. It makes you wonder if it'll be incoming rain, snow or both.

_Brrrr_... Either way, it's a guarantee of even more cold.

Shaking your head, you try not to think too much about the weather. You have quite the day ahead of you, with lots of classes, the visitors for Hagrid, a long letter to write home, and trying to make things play out smoothly with Hermione on a regular school day.

A smile stretches your lips widely again. Your thoughts haven't been able to stray from the brunette a single lasting moment before quickly making their way back. You wish that arriving this early can grant you the chance to meet her before the huge mass of curious students is already settled for breakfast.

A few minutes alone would be a nice way to start off the day. More than that, deep down you also seek reassurance. You need to look into those eyes and find the same resolve you saw yesterday. Memories of the constant push-and-pull dance you've both practiced for _months_ still feel too close for comfort. Whatever obstacles might show up from now on, you're confident that you can face them together. You hope she thinks along the same lines.

Snowflakes begin to fall and melt on your face and clothes, cutting short any further musings. You rush a little across the entrance courtyard, scampering to reach the doors of the old building.

Once inside, you shake off the droplets scattered all over your cap and shoulders, using your wand to scourgify the puddle gathering at your feet and to dry up most of the moisture left on your robes and hair. Realizing that you really can't do a pristine job without a mirror, you huff impatiently at the extra diversion and try to recall the location of the nearest ladies' room.

That is, until you notice you're not by yourself at the Entrance Hall.

Weak and fast whispers coming from a corner distract you. Three students are crouched there, a slim blonde boy bossing around two much larger of his friends. All of them are grinning wickedly and brandishing their wands in a way that clearly shows they're getting ready to scare someone out of their wits.

You shrug, unimpressed, and turn to leave. Young boys having their kind of fun. Dismissing it as another silly student prank in the making, you are already striding away to the restroom, when parts of their hushed conversation reach your ears.

Particularly the mention of the words 'Mudblood', 'blood traitor' and 'pounce on them' in the same phrase makes your eyes narrow. Maybe this is designed to be more serious than a simple prank, after all. You stop in your tracks and lurk about, straining to listen more and have a better look, though still keeping a safe distance.

To your luck, they are watching the stairs closely and your presence goes unnoticed. As you had suspected, their uniforms belong to Slytherin. These must be some of the troublemakers giving Hermione a hard time.

Engrossed in your little espionage activity, you're completely taken by surprise when a light weight connects with the top of your head, followed by a popping sound, and then a freezing trickle that spreads down through your hair, neck and torso. You instantly shiver and, startled, lift your arms by your sides, looking down at yourself to figure out what just happened.

Before you can put two thoughts together, more freezing water bombs strike and you totter back unsteadily. Lost in a blank stupor, you only manage to look up, finding your assailant bobbing about, cackling softly and clearly pleased with himself.

He looks sweetly at you, appraising his handiwork with an evil smile. "Aren't you looking _peachy_ today," and then he feigns a curtsey, "oh, Miss Championshipness?"

Once you realize he's taking aim again, you give the poltergeist a seething glare, whispering a warning "Peeves!" through clenched teeth. You're having an inner debate on whether to try to blast him to bits or not, then a little idea just snaps out of nowhere.

A quick look at the boys gives you the assurance that they are still focused on the stairs and oblivious to Peeves and you. Quietly, you change your position so that Peeves is now right between the trio and yourself.

When his arm starts to spring forward for a new discharge, you react as fast as you can, casting such an intense non-verbal Protego that the convex shield almost explodes from the tip of your wand, expanding into a huge mass that knocks some balloons out of his hands and sends the mad spirit crashing backwards onto a wall, right on top of the Slytherin huddle.

Regaining his balance, he finally takes notice of the unaware boys and smirks in self-satisfaction, forgetting about you and launching a full-blown attack that instantly drenches them from the head down in icy liquid. The boys try to defend themselves and even retaliate, but in less than a minute it becomes clear that they're no match for him.

The poltergeist is an expert and doing what he does best.

They soon give up on their previous plans and start to flee, with a wildly amused Peeves on their tail. When the spirit runs out of ammunition, you conjure extra projectiles and levitate them into his reach. He barely spares you a side glance and continues with his pursuit.

The blonde boy notices, though, stopping briefly to give you an angry 'how-dare-you' glare. Your determination doesn't waver under the boy's silent threat. You have as much reason to glare back at him and ask how dare he call Hermione a _Mudblood_.

With an upright poise, you cross your arms in front of you and keep your wand poking out in intentional display. A challenge for a challenge.

He is too young of a boy, but you'd stand up to any of the older Slytherins just the same, if need be. Whatever it takes to make them show proper respect for muggle-borns.

The blonde keeps his narrowed eyes locked on you, gripping his wand tightly. You tilt your head in amusement, raising an eyebrow at the youngster and uncrossing your arms. With a short twirl, you let your wand roll through your fingers and then freeze, watching him carefully and waiting for him to make the first move. Is he _seriously_ considering attacking you?

Peeves is having none of it, however, breaking your staring contest by making the eager boy double over under a generous onslaught. The blonde gasps and shouts something you can't understand at Peeves, but seems a bit crude. His friends gather around him and they all turn to leave, running up the stairs. The poltergeist obviously takes it as an invitation to play and chases after the disheveled students.

You release the breath caught in your lungs and relax again, loosening the hold on your wand. When you decide you've been a spectator long enough, you whirl around and leave them all to have their fun. Perhaps this will teach those boys a bit about the inelegance of trying to hurt someone from behind.

Either that, or you probably just landed your name at the top of that Slytherin's black list. Oh, well, maybe it'll take his mind away from Hermione for a while.

You pocket your wand and steer your attention back at your surroundings. There are now students starting to file in for breakfast, some of them unable to avert their eyes from you. Looking down, you soon understand why.

The soaking robes clinging to your skin are anything but flattering, and even your shoes and bag were sprinkled in Peeve's hastiness. Madame Maxime would be shocked to see you like this in public.

You sigh. It's more than time for some damage control. Keeping a low profile, you find your way to the ladies' room, check your appearance and at once finish off spell-drying your hair and your clothing the best you can. The mess has been so thorough that it demands quite a lot of fixing and you forget about the passing time.

When the reflection on the mirror finally resembles what it should, you head back, mind heavy with impatience and weariness. The Great Hall is no longer packed and it's easy to realize that you're very late for the meal, since many students are already leaving with the undeniable afterglow of a satisfied stomach.

While walking to the Ravenclaws, you look up at the owls tending to the post and check there are still no deliveries for you. Ruffling your hair anxiously, you start to ask yourself what could be worse, the arrival of a harshly reprimanding letter or this extended silence.

You frown, not knowing what to make of this anymore. No matter how many times you turn things in your mind, the absence of news from home is quite the burden on your nerves. You love your mother to pieces, but she definitely knows how to drive you up a wall. Perhaps this will change for the better when you send out another letter to assure her that everything is working out well lately. That is, assuming she agrees with your concept of 'working out well'.

Reaching the usual sitting place, you don't waste time, soon choosing a chocolate muffin and a goblet of pumpkin juice. You are careful to keep an attentive eye on the time now, interrupting your meal shortly to wish the few students around you a good morning with a smile, but barely participating in the small talk going on.

With a bit of amusement, you look over your shoulder and notice the Slytherin boys didn't show up, yet. Peeve's pestering endurance is... _impressive_, it seems. Glancing forward, to your dismay the very last Gryffindor students are leaving their table right now. You completely missed out on the chance to greet Hermione.

Pouting, you stretch a glance all around and realize most of your friends have finished breakfast also and your own table is nearly vacated, a few students standing up and saying good-bye to you as you try to temporarily quench your appetite.

While you're busy, someone stands up a little to your right and comes close to you. Through the corner of your eye you check it's Luna, when she leans down to make a short whispered comment for your ears only. "Hi, Fleur. I'm sorry I can't stay longer to talk to you. I promised to meet a friend before class."

Although you've know each other for so little, you appreciate very much the young girl's attentive and sweet demeanor, "It is alright, Luna. Zank you for stopping by. I could not arrive sooner to chat today. We should catch up later, non?"

"Sure, let's do that. Didn't I tell you the Nargles would give my things back? I'm so happy that they did, already. During lunch we'll have lots to talk about." A loud voice calls her name from the doors and Luna is about to leave, but then she stops and leans close to you again, "Fleur, you're glowing today, even the Wrackspurts are staying away. Something new happened, huh? Now I can pick it up really well. It's all over you. So clever."

A raised eyebrow is your reply, at the same moment you're emptying the last of your goblet. She nods and gives you one of those wondrous dreamy smiles of hers, "It's almonds and _pine_, isn't it?"

The girl leaves in a hurry and you're left alone to deal with your instant choking fit on pumpkin juice, almost knocking down your goblet in the embarrassing outburst and trying to cover your mouth with a handkerchief. Where does Luna come up with stuff like that?

Someone starts to slap your back a few times until you raise a hand, making sure they understand your windpipe is not blocked anymore. The slapping stops and is replaced by a gentle rub up and down your back instead. It takes you a good number of seconds to recover your breath and completely stop coughing.

Drying up your teary eyes and steadying yourself, you turn to thank whoever helped you, recognizing Hermione as the one standing right behind you, smiling shyly and squeezing your shoulder a last time before she pulls her hand away, "Good morning, Fleur. Feeling better now?"

You only manage to nod, trying to get over the surprise of her presence. Noticing her voice had some hints of strain, you twist sideways on the bench to better look at the brunette.

Yes, she's nervous, alright. The girl is chewing her bottom lip, standing stiff as a broom and keeping her stare close by, avoiding other people's eyes. Perhaps it was too much to hope that she wouldn't feel so self-conscious when facing the other students by your side.

By the way it looks, the best student at Hogwarts still needs to work things out in the emotional department. At least until her confidence goes back to regular levels. It will all come down to patience and time. For both of you.

And it's okay. You see she's clearly trying, although this is not easy on her. She waited on you today, didn't she? And was ready to help you when you needed it, too.

Blinking, you interrupt your current thoughts. That was too long spent inside your head. Time to let her see that you can do this. Together.

You smile brightly at her to make her at ease and her features loosen up a bit, stretching into a small smile.

Realizing you owe her a proper answer, you try to speak, but no sound escapes you. The scratchy soreness of your throat is quite unpleasant and you sip a bit more of juice to ease it down. Careful not to make it even worse, you answer in broken sentences, testing the waters, "Bonjour, 'Ermione. Much better. Merci."

She gives you a concerned look and reaches into her rucksack, "Took you forever to show up today. I saved you an apple, in case you didn't make it to breakfast." She hands you the ripe fruit, carefully wrapped in a napkin, and adds after lifting a curious eyebrow, "Did you oversleep?"

You shake your head and wrinkle your nose in jest, "Non, nothing like zat. I arrived early, but Peeves was in ze mood to give me a little workout." You lean closer and lower your voice to a whisper, as if carefully sharing a secret, "I zink zat poltergeist 'as a soft spot for me."

The brunette rolls her eyes, laughing at the obvious tease, "I see... So now I have competition. Should I worry?"

Playing along, you give her a wink and enjoy the easy exchange, "Oh, I do not zink Peeves should make you concerned."

You finish the last of your muffin and continue in a more serious tone, "Zank you for waiting on me. I know I was very late today."

"It's alright, Fleur. I'm glad you didn't miss another meal." Her voice sounds firmer, more natural and relaxed. After a look around the nearly empty Hall, she takes a step behind, leaving room for you to get up, "We're really running short on time. Classes should start in fifteen minutes. I've got Transfiguration now, what about you?"

"Charms. I am ready to go." Collecting your cap, you stand and place her apple into your bag, "Ze apple will be great later, 'Ermione. My breakfast was very rushed today. It was very zoughtful of you."

It's amusing to see her bashful reaction at such a simple compliment. The brunette's stare shifts down, letting her unruly strands hide her face while you're walking side by side. When her face lifts again to reply, there's that soft blush across her cheeks, "Er... Don't mention it, please. It's nice to look after you."

The sincerity in her tone and words work like a balm for you, and any last traces of anxiety flee from your system. You can tell she's getting there as well, at least for now.

Upon reaching the Entrance Hall, she bites her lower lip and gives you a coy glance, pointing at the heavy oak doors, "Er... Would you mind stepping outside for a bit?"

You catch an extra sparkle in her eyes and smile instantly, "On ze contrary, I would not mind at all. Courtyards 'ave been very _interesting_ lately, non?"

Chuckling, you head out together and stop just outside the doors for a few moments, appreciating the view of a fresh spread of snow covering the courtyard now. As soon as you're all by yourselves, she envelopes your left arm in a firm grasp and her body moves closer, shaking slightly under the sudden cold. You try to release your arm to wrap it around her, but she slides her hand down until one cold palm touches the other and eager fingers mingle, falling into place.

Spinning to look at her, you use your free hand to wrap her scarf in a more protective way around her neck. Smiling and with the cutest blush, she starts to tug you sideways to the sheltered cloister, careful to clear a path free of snow for both of you to tread.

Her efforts are interrupted by a firm but soft voice that comes from the doors behind, making you halt at once. "Excuse me, Miss Delacour. May I have a word with you?"

Hermione's hand breaks apart from yours and the brunette back steps, stopping close by.

You turn to acknowledge the newly arrived short witch, noticing her polite smile, the earthy color of her sturdy robes and that curious amount of loose dirt clinging all over the attire, "Oui? Professor... Sprout?"

The Herbology teacher realizes you're not alone and addresses the brunette as well, "Oh, hello, Miss Granger. Good morning to the two of you."

The Gryffindor smiles back, shyly, "Good morning, Professor."

With a stern look, Professor Sprout directs her attention to you, "I was wondering if I could speak to you, Miss Delacour. Perhaps you can provide us with a little help or guidance."

You instantly nod, ready to listen, while Hermione shifts from a foot to the other, "Is this private? Should I leave, Professor?"

The older witch's gaze softens at the sight of her unsure student, despite the tired creases on her face and her rather slouched posture. "Well, no, of course not, Miss Granger. I gather you two must be good friends. This shouldn't be a big deal. I'm grasping at straws here, but anything at all, even a small idea, can be of use."

You begin to wonder what a Herbology teacher could request from you and promptly offer, "'Ow can I be of 'elp, Professor?"

She crosses her hands in front of her and starts in her teacher-giving-lecture tone, "There's a magical and valuable tree on the grounds, Miss Delacour, a rare Whomping Willow. Have you seen it?"

"Oui, Professor. It is quite 'ard to miss. Ze students are a little scared of its... 'ow should I say... _enthusiasm_," you give her a small smile and pointedly raise an eyebrow at that last word to underline the on-going opinion about the frightful tree.

She chuckles wholeheartedly, "Yes, I can see that happening a lot. We're lucky not to have had any significant incidents with the students. Except, of course, for the time when two of them crash-landed a flying muggle car straight into the willow. As expected, the tree reacted in kind. It was a stroke of luck that no one was badly injured that day."

With a nod and a teasing smile, she turns to Hermione, "I believe those were your friends, Miss Granger, correct?"

Stunned, you look at the brunette, not believing something so farfetched can actually be true. The girl shrugs in response, trying to conceal a smile, "They still remember the Howler from Ron's Mum, Professor." Taking in your startled look, she gives you a huge grin and whispers, "I'll tell you later, Fleur."

"For a little over a week now, the willow's been behaving in a most unusual way. I'm afraid there are no words to explain well its symptoms. You'll have to see for yourself." The teacher's stare drifts from you to Hermione and you catch a little reluctance before she continues, as if handling a touchy subject, "I couldn't help but notice you underwent a few subtle _changes_ of late. As a Veela, that is."

Neither of you react unusually to that, so you glance at Hermione before looking back at the anxious teacher, "'Ermione knows, Professor. It is alright to talk about it."

Smiling in relief, the older witch continues, "Oh, good, good. We've tried to find out what is going on with the poor tree. I'm neck-deep in books, sending owls to ask for the opinion of experts all over Europe. Many already sent back their best guesses and not one has shed light on the matter. We remain clueless. Your change made me wonder if you might have the ability to understand the language of magical trees."

You frown, considering her words before replying, "I do not know, to tell you ze truth, Professor. My grandmuzzer is pure-Veela and she 'as ze ability, but my muzzer is 'alf-Veela and she is not very skilled wiz trees. My own change is too recent. Perhaps I do not even 'ave it… Also, I zink zere is anuzzer problem zat should be considered. Whomping Willows are a bit bizarre in zeir nature. Zere is a large difference between ze magic of ancient trees and zat of ze willows. As far as I remember from ze tales of Veela, willows do not use language, only movement for communication."

"Oh, dear. If that is correct, we may have hit another dead end… Would you do us a favor and try?" The worried glint in her eyes is so striking that you don't even consider saying no.

"Oui, Professor. I would like to assist you wiz ze tree."

"Thank you, Miss Delacour. I appreciate your willingness." Wearily, she nods a few times and her attention shifts to the heavy clouds above, "Let's step back into the castle, now, shall we? I'd say it's about to snow again."

When you return to the Entrance Hall, the professor clearly shows apprehension about the hour, "We should attend our classes of the day. I wouldn't want this particular activity to interfere with your studies. Can we meet close to the Whomping Willow a little before lunchtime this Saturday? That should give us enough time to check the tree and be back for a nice, warm meal. I'm keeping my hopes up that the weather will improve by then."

You have nothing else planned for your Saturday morning and this seems to be an amusing side project, so your answer is as sincere as it could be, "I zink zat should be fine, Professor. I will be zere."

Still a bit timidly, Hermione risks a few words into the conversation, "Professor, am I allowed to go and watch?"

"Yes, certainly, Miss Granger. There's a student that has dedicated many hours to care for that tree. It will be the four of us, then." With a more cheerful demeanor, she waves her hand at you and goes for the stairs, "Now I must find my greenhouses. Miss Granger and Miss Delacour, we shall talk more soon. Take care."

Hermione's voice mixes with yours to bid good-bye to the retreating witch, and shortly all that's left of her is the patched tip of a hat turning a corner on the first floor.

After the sound of the teacher's footsteps is gone, the brunette whirls on you, clearly excited, "You're already talking to trees?"

"What? Oh, non. I mean, I do not know. I 'ave not been around magical trees since ze change. And we do not talk to trees. Some say it is more a matter of a different perception, or perhaps intuition..." your voice trails off and your face goes blank, "Wait. You do not seem surprised at all wiz zis."

She rolls her eyes, smiling, "You gave me that book, remember?"

"Oui, but zat was... yesterday. Zere was not enough time for you to-" You stop short, realization slowly dawning on you. Shooting her a small smirk, you add in a teasing tone, "You 'ad trouble to sleep, non?"

Hermione bites her lip and turns a solid pink, avoiding your stare, "Can you honestly blame me after the day we had? Besides, that book kept me entertained a lot."

Smiling, one of your hands glides over a warm and now reddish cheek, reaching down to lift her face and allow your eyes to meet. You relish that vivid fire burning deep in her russet gaze, and some odd part of your brain notes the brown color appears to be lighter during the day, tiny golden spots enhancing their natural allure. Your fingers remain forgotten under her chin, moving back and forth over the satin feel of her skin.

Time seems to slow down. Or perhaps it just lost all meaning. Not that you care either way.

Slipping her renegade strands away to bring out even the most hidden corners of her face, you answer in a voice barely louder than a whisper, "Non, I cannot blame you. I am smiling because I almost did not sleep, either. Zere was zis beautiful brunette zat crept into my mind and kept stealing away any chance of sleep."

You realize she really mustn't be used to receiving praise. When this regards her looks, perhaps it's even harder for her, since she just flushed a deep tint of purple that would make even Ronald proud. Her eyes finally leave yours altogether and she takes a tentative look around, probably to check you're alone.

And this is it... You can feel her tensing up again, an invisible wall of fear separating you now, inner struggles weighing her shoulders down. The lines in her features are somewhat strained and taut, her eyes shifting in a nervous way. Holding your breath in anticipation, you watch as she considers what to do.

Being seen with you at the Entrance Hall must feel like quite a risk for someone as collected as her. With gossip spreading like Fiendfyre in the student ranks (and possibly out to the rest of the world, thanks to the Triwizard Tournament and Rita Skeeter), a relationship like this demands a whole new level of courage from the Gryffindor. And since this time around there are true feelings involved, dealing with it is probably that much more real, serious and hard for her than when the sham with Mr. Krum turned heads at the Yule Ball.

You reach out and grasp her right hand, squeezing it tightly so she can sense your presence. And your unwavering support. It's not your place to push her, but you want to make it clear that you're by her side no matter what.

After a few moments, her internal debate comes to an end. Heaving a long sigh, she licks her dried lips and slowly looks at you again. The brunette steps in to stand right before you, adjusting your joined hands sideways and braiding your fingers together. Her free hand finds your cheek and rubs it gently, leaving a cold trail in its wake.

You don't wait any longer, whirling your face to graze her open palm with your lips before smacking it loudly only once, "Your 'and is freezing, ma belle." Turning back to face her, you add with a light tone, "Do you zink I can perhaps warm you up?" Offering slightly open arms in her direction, you let the hinted invitation hang in the air.

It takes her no more than a second to really relax. She gives you the sweetest of smiles, nearly leaping forward to lace her arms around your waist. Any space left between you vanishes at once, the hug replacing any signs of cold with a comfortable warmth that spreads straight through each other's skins. Her eagerness makes you chuckle, dissipating the somber mood from minutes before.

Closing your eyes, you touch your forehead to hers and savor that scent that is so undeniably Hermione, "I wish zis did not worry you so much. You are not doing anything alone, 'Ermione. I am 'ere wiz you. For you. Do you understand zat?"

She nods and answers in a small voice, "Yes, Fleur. But this is too new. I can't help myself, yet... It will get easier, though, right?"

"Mm-hmm... Zat is what I believe." Actually, that is what you wish to see happening.

She nuzzles the tip of your nose and tilts her head to a side. In the swift move, her mouth brushes against yours, stealing a sigh from your lips.

There's no need for more. You both recall how to take it from here, meeting midway into a soft and lingering kiss that sends all doubts and anxiety to the very back of your minds. This feels perfect, just like it had yesterday. A good reminder of just how well you fit together. And, as if you're both sharing the same thought, one puts as much ardor into the caress as the other.

You stretch every minute to its fullest, although there's the pressure of the hour, for neither is willing to stop just yet. When you finally break apart, you're sure it ended faster than you wish it would. Eyes flutter open, stares match again, and she is smiling at you in silence. Words have no place in this moment.

Her head comes to rest on your shoulder and you run your fingers over her wild strands, taking a final instant to simply enjoy each other's presence.

At last, the brunette breathes out the words that you can't. "We should go."

She slackens her grip and sighs, adding in an expectant tone, "What are you doing after the morning break, Fleur? Do you have more classes?"

You shake your head, "Non, I only 'ave Charms in ze morning. Zen I 'ad planned to go to ze library. I 'ave to write a letter to send 'ome."

After giving you a quick peck, she straightens her rucksack, "Great. I'm free after the break too. I'll find you there."

The sound of alien steps coming down the stairs and someone clearing their throat freezes you on the spot. Hermione stiffens at once, slipping apart. Before she can panic away, you hold her hands and keep her close, knowing the brunette is concealed by your frame. You try to reassure her with a small smile, but an imposing voice you had not expected rises in the Hall.

"All ze students should be in class now. Eet is not allowed to stay in ze corridors after ze ring of ze bell." The voice makes a pause and a loud sneeze echoes several times in the small chamber.

'Oh, Merlin. Not like this. Not now!'

Holding in a major groan, you pointedly wave your head in the direction of the corridor leading to the Transfiguration quarters and give the brunette a suggestive look, mouthing 'I will take care of this'.

The brunette nods in understanding. Slowly, you turn to face your Headmistress jovially, "Oui, Madame Maxime?"

Her eyes widen and another sneeze resonates loudly, "Eet is _you_, Fleur?"

You wag your hand for Hermione to leave and she doesn't waste time, scurrying away. Searching your bag, you fetch a small box of paper tissues, which the large witch promptly accepts. With a sideways look at the corridor, you notice Hermione stopped right after she was out of sight to check on you. She winks and you try to keep a blank face in front of your Headmistress.

After Madame Maxime has used enough tissues to temporarily stop her sniffing, you address her again, "Oui, Madame. Professor Sprout needed to talk after breakfast and I was running a little late."

"You were not running _at all_, Fleur," she says in a suggestive way, though without malice. "Who was wiz you?"

"I was only saying good-bye to my gir- hmm... g-good friend," you stutter, almost letting slip something you most certainly don't want to share. Something you're not even sure you should or can say yet, anyway. "My very good friend, Professor."

She gives you a suspicious stare and repeats slowly, "Your good friend, hmmm?"

You nod and remain silent. Enough said. Good moment to keep mouth shut.

The Headmistress sneezes again and you steal a look at the corridor. Hermione has her arms crossed and she is leaning on her shoulder, against the wall of stone. However, it's her face that makes you wince. She is carefully watching you with a raised eyebrow and tightly pursed lips.

"Very well, you should go or you will be even later for class. We will talk at ze carriage," the thundering voice of your professor states matter-of-factly and she hurries you off to the stairs.

"Oui, Madame," you reply in a weak voice. When she tries to return the box of tissues, although her nose is tomato-red and her eyes are all puffy, you shake your head at once, "Oh, no. Please, Professor, keep zem. I 'ave more in my room. Should I call on Madam Pomfrey to 'elp you?"

"She 'as asked zat a potion is brewed for me. Eet will be ready soon," she shares in a softer voice. "Go on to class, Fleur. I shall be at ze carriage to rest until ze potion is complete."

With a small smile, you finally turn to leave, only to feel your happy face dissolve as soon as your back turns. Of all the possible whens for this to happen, two professors had to interrupt Hermione and you particularly today, with Hermione's anxiety just dying to show its colors. And your Headmistress was one to catch you red-handed.

You're already treading on thin ice with her as it is. You recall she wasn't thrilled at all to learn you returned late to the carriage one night and escorted by no other than Professor Snape.

Rushing to your expected classroom, you're pretty sure you've just climbed the three flights of stairs in record time. Ironically, no matter your history as an upstanding student, you're not exactly in the mood to answer 'the call of duty' right now.

With a worried mind reeling over the turn of events, you startle Professor Flitwick when you interrupt his explanation, opening the door to arrive late for the first time ever. Properly embarrassed, you make a short apology and quickly go to your seat.

Curious eyes from all around track your every move and you wish you could simply disappear or blend into the background. It makes you grateful that the professor simply continues his class when you sit down and not even your friends bug you about it for long, as they were sure to notice you were late since breakfast, anyway.

Silently, you start taking notes on his full revision of Fidelius and Muggle-Repelling Charms. He makes it clear that this is the last revision before the next exam and the statement is followed by a symphony of low groans and whines coming from the farthest corners of the classroom. You could swear the short professor just barely hid a smile.

Once the theory is covered and a few questions have been answered, the professor slowly enunciates the incantations and performs the correctly timed wand movements a few times for the class to observe, and then asks all to stand and practice as he walks around, watching and adding any necessary adjustments.

When he stops by your side to check your performance, you do your best not to disappoint, stirring your wand in fluid motions that you've long committed to memory after hours of drilled efforts.

You're interrupted by the ring of the bell and everyone else start to leave, while the tiny professor is giving you more pointers, carefully demonstrating extra techniques to enhance a semi-circular spin to go with the last incantation you were practicing.

After the other students are out the door, in a worried voice the professor awkwardly asks you if everything is alright. You quickly let him know that you were delayed by a request made by Professor Sprout after breakfast and he is very understanding about it, even repeating the small part of the revision you missed in case you had any doubts left.

Collecting your things, you thank him and bow your head before leaving. You make a mental note to study hard enough to ace the next Charms test as you walk out the door. And then you freeze, stunned where you stand.

The transition from the quiet classroom to this roaring sea of students taking over the corridors is almost beyond belief. There's shouting and running just about _everywhere_. You see lots of personal things and books being tossed around, with the annoyed owners trying to recover them, magically or not quite so. Thankfully, some of your friends are close by, talking loudly, and they invite you to return to the carriage and join their study group, showing concern about the incoming exams.

As you listen to them, you fish out the apple from your bag and enjoy each refreshing bite of your quick snack. You accompany them in the direction of the staircase, explaining that your study schedule is a bit tighter because of the demands of the Tournament. After all, you're still trying to figure out the contents of that maddening egg.

Unyielding under their insistence, you tell them of your need to go to the library now, and then promise to discuss a schedule over lunch to study with them during the weekend. They don't look too pleased, but finally concede and leave, rambling on about the unfairness of studying for regular exams and still preparing for NEWTs in the same term.

Smiling at the silly arguments that you can still overhear, you vanish the leftovers of the fruit and stride into the nearly empty library, quickly setting course for the far corner of Hermione's favorite desk, eyes roaming about.

The vigilant librarian is occupied, tending to books left on empty tables, but her piercing eyes don't miss your arrival. A few students are scattered, mostly in small groups, and whispering. You notice a couple of them are blinking excessively, probably trying to stay awake, and you're sure you even caught sight of a lone Hufflepuff in deep sleep, drooling and all.

Hermione didn't arrive, yet, so you fetch the letter you wrote to Gabrielle a few days ago (and never sent) and the sketchbook from your bag. Searching through the latest drawings, you choose four that look interesting and detach those pages, setting them face-down.

After preparing quill and many scrolls of parchment, you reread the letter and get started. It's amusing that there are more news to add little more than a day after you wrote so much. You try to tone down a bit of your enthusiasm about it, knowing full well that Gabrielle will be ready to throw a party the minute she gets this.

To make it all the more unexpected, you jot down large paragraphs about school, the restart of term, exams, books, grades, the weather, your friends, how you're getting nowhere with the Tournament, and a description of the sketches. Then, as the sneaky surprise, you finish with a whole section on Hermione, letting your mind wander free as you put in a few hints of the two of you getting along quite well and not exactly as only friends. Gabrielle is young, but she'll know how to read between these lines.

Fully satisfied with the long extension, you're writing your signature at the end, when a quick grip on your shoulder has you bolting up in surprise. An amused voice breathes on your ear, "Hey, you... Looks like I really _can_ catch you off-guard."

Her low chuckle sets you at ease and you only shake your head a few times, smiling, "You are late, ma belle." Putting down your quill, you continue, "Ze time is not agreeing wiz us today, non?"

Hermione leans down for a quick kiss on your cheek before she reaches for one of your hands and places a soft bundle on its palm. You frown at that, take a better look and notice it's one of her scarves, neatly folded and showing the coat of arms of Gryffindor House.

"I guess I do owe you an explanation." She sits on the chair by your side and smiles rather shyly, "That Veela book made me think of you so much. It felt great to have it with me all night, Fleur. The leather cover even had your sweet smell. And this morning it hit me that you didn't have anything of mine, so I just had to go back to my room and pick up that scarf. It's the same one I used yesterday, when we talked. I'd like you to have it. To... hmm... you know, remember me."

Her last words are spoken slowly and she starts to blush despite herself. You look at the scarf briefly and then your stare finds the brunette again. This is so meaningful to you that you're at a loss on how to respond. At least you've managed to keep your jaw in place. Though you can't bring your eyebrows back down.

Your lasting silence makes her more and more uneasy, and she doesn't stop looking at you to check your reaction, "Huh, if you want it, that is. And I'm really sorry for keeping you waiting this long."

Snapping out of it, you finally beam at her, unfolding the scarf on your lap and quickly sensing the distinct traces of her scent on it, "Merci, 'Ermione. Zis is… absolutely _fantastic_. Smells 'ave quite ze effect on me, too. Are you sure you will not need it?"

Her distress begins to recede as she watches you handle the fluffy gift with care. While opening her rucksack to get some of her things, she dispels your worries, "No, it's alright. I have more of them to last me all winter. Since my Mum is always so prudent, probably to last me all winters until I graduate."

You grin, shaking your head at the remark.

Wasting no time, she eagerly brings your previous adventure to light, "Did everything go well with Madame Maxime?"

Carefully, you tidy the scarf and reply casually, "Oui, better zan I expected. She is coming down wiz something, sneezing like zat. I do not zink she even 'ad ze strength to be mad about students missing classes."

The brunette frowns seriously, "Fleur, I don't want to see you in trouble. You can tell her I was there with you. Even Professor Sprout can explain why we were late, right?"

You shrug and nod, placing the scarf inside your bag.

Letting the touchy subject go, she continues in a conversational tone, "What of your letter? Did you finish it already? Is everything alright at home?"

"Oui, it is finished now. I am sending ze latest news to my sister. It is strange zat zere 'ave been no letters from 'ome in a week. Maybe ze 'orrible weather is delaying ze owls," you reply, considering this possibility for a while.

She raises an eyebrow at your remark and piles up her books on the desk.

You notice how spread out your things are, taking up most of the desk when she's about ready to study. Quickly, you set as much as you can smartly in order to make more room for the brunette, "Hmm… Did you 'ave a good class?"

Hermione nods slowly, preparing a quill and rolls of parchment, "Mm-hmmm, very interesting. Professor McGonagall's classes are some of my favorites. We're doing Cross-Species Switches now. What about you?"

"Professor Flitwick made a last revision before 'is next Charms exam." At last, the letter and sketches are now rolled up together and set aside, near your sketchbook, and the table looks well organized. "Defense Against ze Dark Arts and Charms 'ave been planned out together since December. Zey 'ave taught us many kinds of defensive spells to secure and conceal locations, from large buildings to small 'ideouts. Zat is an interesting line of spells, particularly wards."

She stills her hands on the pile of books in front of her, "This is my latest Potions essay, but it shouldn't take too long. Is it okay if I do it now?"

"Oui, of course. You should not even ask zat, 'Ermione. We can talk later. Zere is some reading I 'ave to do as well," you counter chuckling, enjoying up close the sight of Hermione scribbling away by your side. She's acting like it's the most natural thing in the whole world, already researching from three different textbooks and lost in her thoughts.

Smiling to yourself, you leave briefly to check the shelves for a good tome on protective wards and return with what seems to be a couple of gems on the subject. In little time, you find in-depth chapters on unusual ways to trick wards into ignoring a trespasser and start taking notes on incantations that might fuel further discussions with Professors Moody and Flitwick. Intrigued, you also write down particular exceptions that seem to contradict what was taught in class. This will provide some amusing moments in the near future.

After what feels like a very long period of silence and not removing your eyes from your current activity, you stretch your arm in her direction and give her hand a light squeeze, "'Ow are you doing zere?"

She moves her hand over yours and rubs your knuckles with her thumb while turning a few pages from one of the books. When she finds what she was looking for, she distractedly answers in a whisper, also keeping her attention set on her work, "Just a bit left... Almost finished."

Frowning, you realize she's still writing furiously and about to finish her second (!) roll of parchment, "Do you need 'elp?"

Surprised eyes glance up and lock on yours. With a pointed look at her parchment, you explain, "You seem to be in such a 'urry. When is zat due?"

And then she smiles in understanding, shaking her head, "Oh, in three weeks. I like to stay ahead."

You relax at once when you realize your mistake, "Je suis désolée. For a moment, I forgot zis is you. Most of my friends leave zings to do at ze last minute."

"Tell me about it," she says, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated way, barely concealing a smile. "Harry and Ron drive me crazy all the time. At least we won't have exams anytime soon. They get cranky when there's too much to study."

You nod, recognizing very well the same pattern in your own friends. Satisfied with the little research, you pile the books away and put your fresh notes inside your bag. There's still plenty of time left before lunch, so you pull your sketchbook instead and search for a few pencils, trying out the first traces of a new sketch.

Taking advantage of the fact that you're in the library, you look around and recall one busy evening, months ago, when there were no free spots to be seen and an eager brunette asked to sit with you... A firm hand drags the coarse tip of the pencil to mark down the delicate page, your mind focused on the memory and eyes shifting constantly from your surroundings to the shaping drawing.

The scraping sound from your pencil mixes with the harsh scratches of the quill at your side, both so familiar and relaxing to you. With your slow improvement over the days, it doesn't take long to recognize the image as it gains form. Once the basic scenery is laid out, you start to add in details and the familiar faces that had been a part of that particular moment.

"That's it, finally over..." Your eyes drift to the brunette speaking in a satisfied tone, now closing her books and setting parchment, ink and quill carefully in her rucksack. When she's finished tending to her things, she rolls and stretches her neck until it cracks.

Hermione then turns her attention to you and she tilts her head, curiously, leaning closer to check your drawing, "I thought you were doing homework. What is that?"

You lift the corner of the sketchbook in her direction, providing her a better view, "It is a personal interest, my 'obby. My muzzer says I started to draw when I was very young. Zis sketchbook 'as been wiz me since I first went to school."

She stands up behind you, her face hovering above your shoulder, "That's looking pretty good, Fleur. Will you show me after you're through with it?"

"Oui, it should not take long to ready ze 'ardest part for now. I can finish ze finer details from memory later, and zen I shall show you ze complete sketch," you reply while resuming your drawing, putting extra care to replicate the complex design of a particularly elaborate bookshelf.

She straightens up, small hands tracing your shoulders back and forth. At first it's done absentmindedly, but then there's new purpose in her moves and she sinks probing fingertips to check your muscles. A soft squeeze follows and she starts to rub them carefully, from neck to upper back, "There's so much tension here, Fleur. Even through your robes it's easy to notice. You need to relax more."

Her strokes send shivers running down your spine, "Zat... feels great. My shoulders 'ave been stiff for a while."

She keeps a conversational tone and kneads even more slowly, "When I'm home, my Mum asks for a neck rub almost every single day. She works in a position that strains her back for hours. Your muscles seem just as tight." After a small pause to rearrange your hair away from the areas tended by her hands, she continues, "Er... Is it alright if I keep on talking or does it distract you from sketching?"

"You should know zat what you are doing is a lot more distracting zan talking, ma belle," you answer in a half-hearted complaint.

Not that you had any doubts, but that quiet laugh laden with mischief is proof that she's fully aware of exactly how much she's affecting you, "Don't think too much about it. You shouldn't even be this sensitive when I'm working over your clothes, Fleur. I'll try to keep the pressure soft so your muscles don't hurt. Tell me if it feels uncomfortable, alright?"

You nod briefly and she takes the lead again, "We should get your mind busy about something else." An involuntary twitch evolves to a painful spasm, and she stays on the spot longer, rubbing in small circles to loosen what you can guess has become a particularly tight knot, "Let's see... Is Hogwarts really that different from Beauxbatons? I overheard you saying a few things to Roger Davies at the Ball and you didn't seem too happy about what you saw here."

Feeling glad about the chance at distracting your mind, you rip your thoughts away from the efficient strokes and manage to put an answer swiftly past your lips, "Non, zey are not very different. I was provoking Mr. Davies to see if 'e was under ze effects of my charms. You could say zat I was provoking you a little, too, since you were not talking to me at ze Ball and I knew you were listening in on us."

"Is that so?" She chuckles, squeezing both shoulders in sync, "Truth is, it worked. I got all riled up then, but I didn't feel like saying anything. Er… So I guess this means you don't really have a problem with Hogwarts. That's nice to know. How'd you compare them?"

You try to relax your back to avoid resisting the on-going kneading, "'Ogwarts and Beauxbatons are very different only in architecture. Both schools are remarkable in zeir unique ways, wiz nice facilities and vast open grounds. Uzzerwise, from what I asked, ze educational programs are similar. Ze two schools 'ave a careful selection of professors and zeir libraries 'ave good resources. Also, students benefit from easy access to plants and magical creatures in both, zough 'ere we are exposed to more... dangerous species. 'Agrid seems to 'ave a taste for zat."

"That's him, alright," she says in a good mood. "Harry, Ron and I learned the hard way that small, cute creatures aren't his thing. Hagrid has a preference for fangs, claws and multiple limbs. His favorite creatures are dragons. That pretty much sums it all."

She ends the massage with a last squeeze, pecks your temple lightly and sits down again. Folding her arms on the desk, she slides closer, not missing the progress of your sketch. "What about you? How are _you_ doing in school?"

Rolling your shoulders testily, you all but purr, making your contentment obvious at the wonderful sensation, "I zink I am doing well. Ze Tournament complicates zings a little bit, zough now I am better organized zan last year. During ze 'olidays I worked on all my 'omework and I am ahead, too. Madame Maxime said my grades were good in ze exams before Chreestmas. We shall see at ze next round of exams, wiz Transfiguration, Charms and Potions coming up in a week."

Upon hearing the news, her spine immediately perks into a rigid vertical position, creaking loudly. The unusual sound makes you look up from your sketchbook and you catch her furrowing brow.

"All three in a week?" Biting her lip, she tries to bring her unusually high-pitched voice back to normal, "So you have a busy weekend ahead. Are you going to stay in your room all the time?" Still frowning, she gives you a wishful look, "Maybe you can study at the library?"

You notice her concern and rest your chin on your hand, enjoying the chance to commit her cute expression to memory, before answering softly, "I do not know yet, 'Ermione. Zat depends on your plans, too."

She seems confused and your hand reaches out to graze her cheek, "I am almost prepared for ze exams. All I need is a short review and some time to 'elp ze study group from Beauxbatons. Uzzer zan zat, I zought we could do something by ourselves when you are free."

Leaning into the caress, a bright grin springs on her face, brown eyes sparkling in a surge of joy, "You mean, just us?"

You smile back and nod several times in assurance.

She immediately adds, "That sounds great. I'd love to spend time with you."

"Oui, zat is something we need to do. It will be nice to forget about school and ze Tournament for a while. We can talk about anything we want now," you remark sincerely.

Her eyes turn a bit serious, "The more I think about it, Fleur, the more I ask myself if this is really happening. Everything seems unreal. I'm not used to feeling like this about anyone. It's just so overwhelming. In a good way, I mean. And when I remember all the time we lost..."

You keep your voice in the low tone she seems to like, "Ma belle, I am not used to any of zis, either. What 'appened to us was not lost time. At least zat was what my tired brain tried to tell me last night. We are a stubborn pair and it took us all zat to get 'ere. Now zat we are finally together, what I want is to make ze most of zis wiz you."

"I agree. I'd really like to know more about you," she cuts in. "The sooner, the better."

You smile, chiming in a statement that feels like a promise, "Starting zis weekend, non?"

In the distance, you hear the sound of the bell, muffled through the large bookshelves, announcing that morning classes are over and lunch should follow in a short while. You are actually annoyed at how quickly the last part of the morning has zoomed away.

Sighing, you close the sketchbook, leave the pencils by your bag and stand up, "In a little bit we 'ave to go to lunch, ma belle. We should get ready."

She also stands and carefully takes hold of your wrist to keep you from moving. Whirling your head in surprise, one of her captivating smiles is all it takes for you to pull her into a secure embrace. You understand. In a few moments you'll be going back to corridors packed with students. This is her way of saying that she does want to be with you, even though she's not ready to deal with doing that in public, yet.

You hear familiar voices in the distance and look past Hermione, noticing Ronald and Harry entering the library, searching around.

"Zere are your friends, 'Ermione," you tell her casually, after kissing her forehead.

The brunette turns her head and sees them too, taking a few steps away from you to pick up her rucksack, "I'd forgotten, Fleur. Ron and Harry were to meet me here so we could go to lunch."

She doesn't make any attempt to call them over or invite you to tag along. Your eyes shift from the still unaware boys to the brunette and she only bites her lip in silence. Sensing her discomfort rise, you act at once to try to ease it down. You've spent a nice morning together and a better opportunity to talk will present itself.

Patience and time. You repeat that over and over in your mind.

"You should go, zen, 'Ermione. Zey are looking for you. In a little while I will be at ze Great 'All, too." Waving your head in the boys' direction and offering her a smile, you start to put your belongings in your bag, "What are you doing in ze afternoon?"

Her head hangs low for a few moments, and then she takes a deep breath, "I have classes until dinner. And you?"

All too aware of what lies ahead until later in the night, you reply dryly, "Ze same. I should make arrangements for ze Beauxbatons study group over lunch. Can I see you after dinner to talk about ze weekend or is it better if we meet tomorrow?"

"Tonight after dinner will be fine. I still have to talk to my friends and check if they are planning anything else." She slowly reaches for your hand, squeezing it lightly a last time before leaving, "Catch you later?"

"Oui. Till zen, ma belle. 'Ave fun," you reply lightly, making sure to hold her gaze and keep a neutral expression.

She nods and spins on her heels to leave. Watching her slowly retreating form, you notice the boys are looking the other way. Apparently, the brunette noticed too, for she's tiptoeing to take them by surprise. You chuckle, curious to see if she'll be able to pull it off.

When she's right about to pass the last couple of shelves to reach her friends, a loud clatter is heard. A very young student just tripped and dropped his rucksack. In less than a blink, all sorts of trinkets have spilt from its insides and are either scattered and broken or rolling around at will. Madam Pince immediately stands up, wand at the ready, to help him collect the mess.

The librarian isn't fast enough, however... Hermione steps unevenly on one of the irregular objects and loses her footing. You haven't missed a single thing, with your attention completely focused on her. And now she's falling, head first, straight to the floor. Not needing a second glance, you snap your fingers and move your wrist exactly the right way, as if you had your wand ready.

The levitation charm stops her fall a few centimeters off the stony landing. You simply hold her there, unsure about overusing a type of magic you don't control very well. Especially when you're applying it for the first time on this sort of spell.

After a few seconds have trailed away, the brunette seems to realize the collision is not about to happen anymore. She slowly unfolds the tight arms around her head and sets both hands down on the floor to ground herself. Spent, you finally interrupt the spell, breathing heavily, and she steadies her weight on hands and knees.

You look down your arm. The hand you used to perform the wandless spell alternates back and forth from going completely numb to being seized by dozens of prickly stings that explode through your flesh. Expecting to find something terribly wrong with it, your eyes nervously examine every part of the extremity, to no avail. The skin looks intact and you have no problem to clench and unclench it. Only the extreme sensitivity seems to be unusual. You really need help to make sense out of this. Badly.

Glancing back at Hermione, her friends have turned around and seen her, moving quickly to pick up her rucksack and offer help to lift her up. The girl shakes her head at them and finally stands again, clapping her hands together to remove the dust. She stares at the floor, her hands, the broken items all over the place, and finally whirls in your direction, tilting her head curiously.

You earn a lopsided smirk from the brunette and she breathes a low 'thank you' that you can almost hear. Nodding at her, she gives you a last wink before settling between her friends and leaving with them.

The trio talks all the way to the doors of the library, and Ronald's curious gaze eventually finds you. Crossing your arms, you only observe as they exit together. Hermione is checking the rolls of parchment in her rucksack for any signs of damage after the fall, Harry keeps on adjusting his glasses and Ronald stares at you over his shoulder the entire time. You're surprised the ginger manages to find his way without running into a desk or smacking his head on the walls.

Once they're gone, you pick up your bag and the letter for Gabrielle, organizing your thoughts around the list of what's left for you to do before going to lunch.

On your way to the corridors, you stop to look out a window and realize gloomily that there's quite the blizzard going on, with dark overhanging clouds and thick mounds of snow piling up quickly everywhere.

It makes you sigh. A trip to the Owlery is out of the question for the time being. There's no way you'll send Éclair to brave this kind of weather. Sighing, the letter is swiftly tucked into your bag with the rest of your things. It'll have to wait another day. One less thing to do right now.

Moving on, you take a quick detour to the kitchens, right on cue to pick up your precious daily delivery from Dobby. You'll save it till the afternoon break for an energy boost.

When you reach the Great Hall, you notice at once the amused laughter of Luna Lovegood, sitting down close to a group of your friends. Grinning, you take a seat near them and quickly join in the animated debate on the best spell to make the most lasting ice sculptures in the middle of a scorching summer day. Clearly, everyone is trying to keep up their good moods through the bitter weather.

Starting a conversation with the young Ravenclaw, she quickly shares that she's very upbeat after finding all the things the Nargles 'borrowed' for a few days. The blonde is so unusual and perceptive that you make an inward promise to try to understand her interest in so many unconventional creatures.

Bringing up the study group during the weekend, a small argument settles the best meeting time for everyone during Saturday afternoon. If it works out well, maybe there won't be much left for you to review after it. This can win you some extra time to spend with your cute brunette.

As the meal is about to end, you steal a glance at the Gryffindors. Hermione is sitting with her back turned to your table. Not much luck there.

Still, you watch her briefly until it's time to leave. Despite all the conversation and laughing around her, she is presently involved in a rather unpleasant task. Siding with Fierce-girl, who is at her left, both are gesturing wildly and scolding Ronald about his eating manners. Or lack of, from what you can see. You shake your head, wondering if they'll manage to get any improvement on his part.

Right before the bell rings again, you leave with your friends for the dungeons. Your mood goes sour instantly.

Double Potions.

Just what you need after lunch: to be cooped up with Professor Snape for the rest of the afternoon, smelling odd fumes in a dark room, and with a heavy drowsiness undermining your ability to think from your night of little sleep...

Your eyelids already feel heavier by the minute.

This certainly looks like the recipe for disaster.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Finally, another one up. This was harder to write and put together than usual. As you can guess, life is still in hectic mode.

Thank you for all the reviews, opinions, remarks, pointing out errors and also so many nice messages. It's amazing to read your thoughts and ideas. :D

A special thank you to Andy Lewis, the author of a very interesting Fleur/Hermione fic that all fans of this pairing should read: 'She is the Sunlight'. He made a list of suggestions in his latest chapter for readers of several fandoms. Don't forget to check that out too. I'd add to that list (Fleur/Hermione, T rating) 'Cursed by a Veela' by O'Faolain abu (fun, sweet and a very pleasant read) and randomtastic7's 'Plunging into the Depths' (suspenseful and a bit dark). I've also started reading 'Look at Me' by Apocalyptic Mirage and 'The Luna Letters' by The Spectrum Sings, both gripping and well written. And that's as far as I had time to go. Do you have any suggestions? Please, feel free to share!

Lots of thanks also to Black Rose Blue for bringing up the issue with the apostrophes. Fixing that gave me a good opportunity to go through the chapters and clean up some spelling problems, punctuation, grammar and other stuff. Still not perfect, but better.

Well, this is the moment for short warnings on the chapter, so here are a few:

1. From now on, the plot will move more seriously into AU. We know little about Fleur in canon (as a foreign student, as a part-Veela and as a seventh-year), so there's room to get creative. Since our leading ladies are (sort of) acquainted, the story will branch out with a little more freedom and other characters (CC and OC) can grow around/with them. I hope this doesn't make you wince.

2. Please, assume that when only French individuals are around, they are all speaking in their native language, so their dialogues are written without accents.

3. The visit from the Veela was meant to be here... but... things got in the way and this long weird chapter was the result. The Veela are in store for next.

4. This picks up right after the last chapter. Somewhere along these lines, you'll have an inkling to Fleur's state of mind (that was intentional). Best read when wide awake.

* * *

><p>Chapter 8.<p>

You wend your way through the crowded Great Hall with small steps and plenty of patience. As you walk, the last signs of lunch are being magically cleaned out from the large tables, in that impecable display of the work of house-elves. You know the bell is about to ring and students all around get ready to leave, adding in to the large gathering jamming the doorway.

The usual loud blend of noises fills the air, making it impossible to keep a decent conversation without yelling now, so you simply follow after your friends in silence, idly looking around.

A flash of lightning criss-crosses the enchanted ceiling, capturing your curious stare in that single glance up. The intense blizzard raging nonstop works like an enticing bait to your scrambled brain, luring you into thoughts of steaming cups of hot chocolate, warm pyjamas, soft pillows and a cozy duvet.

You sigh, daydreaming about the wonderful comforts waiting in your room, perfect for a day like this. Mustering some extra determination, you keep on walking and telling yourself to hang on just a little more. Right after dinner, there'll be a chance to enjoy all of them.

A persistent tug on the left sleeve of your uniform drags your thoughts back to earth. Your startled stare falls on Hermione, who then holds your wrist and starts to pull you along.

Taken by surprise, you bump into a couple of younger girls, clumsily apologizing as you go. The determined brunette cuts through the mass of students, directing you straight through the doors and to a corner of the Entrance Hall that looks like a much better place to talk.

"Sorry for doing this right before class," she says, releasing you and sinking one arm deep into her rucksack. "But I promise we won't be late again, Fleur. All I need is a minute."

"Mmm... Sure, 'Ermione," you reply, pulling off the hat that was nearly knocked down from your head in the squeeze through the crowd.

After tossing your hair a few times from side to side, you try to loosen and rearrange the strands with your hands. It's the second time today that you've made the attempt to better your appearance at the Entrance Hall.

While you're slowly adjusting the cap in place, you take notice of a large number of boys aiming fixed stares your way, gaping and thunderstruck. You roll your eyes and decide to ignore the situation altogether. Luckily, the students behind them, annoyed at the hold up, start to impatiently herd the stunned group forward.

Hermione remains focused on her current search and you rattle away to fill the silence, "Staying awake at night was not a very bright idea. I could use a large cup of coffee right now."

She chuckles a little, "I know what you mean."

Halting her exploration briefly, she whispers in a very low voice, looking stealthily at the passers-by to make sure no one is listening in, "I just remembered. Thanks for helping me at the library. Sometime you'll have to show me how you did that."

"It was not a big deal, 'Ermione. Perhaps during ze weekend when we are _alone_," you stress a little that last word, also stealing suspicious glances around. This isn't something you want to share openly.

She nods and finally closes her eyes, smiling, "Found it."

Pulling out her arm, she hands you a large bunch of chaotic parchment, "This belongs to you, right?"

You take a look, soon recognizing your own handwriting. With a frown, you start to put the messy and overly wrinkled rolls in order, "Oui. My letter to Gabrielle." Lifting your eyes to the brunette, you ask in a faltering voice, "'Ow...?"

"Ron saw a student taking it from your bag," she explains, swinging the rucksack over her shoulders again. "It was open and you were distracted with all the racket going on. When I spotted him, he was already showing it to his friends. And the way they were smiling... well, it couldn't be a good thing."

That bothers you a lot. Reaching for your bag, you realize it is, indeed, wide open, and you check its contents, but find nothing else misplaced. "Zen you went to take it back from zem?"

"I tried, but the crowd slowed me down," Hermione answers, clearly displeased. "They were all over your letter before I could summon it out of their hands. I think they didn't realize it was me. Is it all there?"

Still shocked by the audacity of whoever did that, you go back to checking the scrolls. "Oui. Zere are no lost parts, 'Ermione. Ze complete letter is 'ere."

"Well, it's all written in French," she remarks. "They probably couldn't read any of it. What about the three sketches?"

"_Zree_? Zere were four." You double check. She's right, there are only three now.

She starts to bite her lip, "Which one is missing? Was it important?"

"Let me see," you mutter, running your eyes through the pages. "One of ze castle, one of ze first task, and one of ze decorations of ze Yule Ball. Ze last one was of you and 'Arry talking in ze Transfiguration Courtyard. A regular school day."

A set of surprised eyebrows bolt up.

You only shrug, completely unfazed, "I was showing Gabrielle a bit about you."

Her heavy expression makes you wonder if she feels guilty for not reaching the letter in time to collect it in full. You try another approach to calm her down, explaining a little better your reasons for choosing that particular sketch, "My sister is a very curious young girl and zis is ze first time we 'ave been apart so long. She is in a phase when she wants to know about everything, non? Ze Tournament, who I meet, what I do, ze classes… Even ze weather amuses 'er."

Noticing her still concerned look, you sigh and add on, "Please, do not worry so. I will add another sketch to replace zat one when I send ze letter."

"It isn't that, Fleur. Doesn't it bother you that someone took your sketch?" she asks in disbelief.

"Of course it does, 'Ermione. Whoever did zis was very disrespectful. Zey probably 'ad ill intentions," you reply in a firm voice. "But I stay calm like zis because I am sure zat zey will get nothing from zat sketch. It was very simple and innocent. Two friends talking. It cannot be used against us in any way. Who could zink anything bad from it?"

"You don't know them as well as I do, Fleur. That trio means trouble," she says with an edgy tone.

"Trio?" You frown at that. Now it starts to make sense.

"Yes, they're some of the Slytherin boys in my year. Draco Malfoy and his goons, Crabbe and Goyle. That's them," she indicates, with a pointed look that you follow easily.

The boys are way up the stairs overflowing with students, but even with their backs turned to you, the lean blonde and his pair of bulky buddies are unmistakable. Especially sniggering in that holier-than-thou attitude.

"I 'ave seen zem before," you state in a flat voice, as if this didn't deserve much importance.

But no matter how you twist and turn things around in your mind, it doesn't change the fact that they took something that belongs to you and relates to Hermione. Deep down you wonder about their interest in the sketch they managed to keep. You remember it well and there's nothing really amusing about it. Or compromising. Was it a coincidence? Or maybe they kept the sketch because the brunette's summoning spell didn't reach it?

Pushing those thoughts aside for now before your own concerns start to show on your face, you glance back at the brunette, "I still zink you should not worry about it... And zank you for getting ze letter back for me. I am really glad it was not lost."

Shaking her head, she gives you a small smile, "You would've done the same for me."

"Oui, I would," you confirm honestly, tapping your wand on the rolls of parchment to get rid of folds and wrinkles.

She asks curiously while watching you fix the letter, "How come you didn't notice someone taking all that from your bag?"

"I really did not feel a zing. Perhaps I am more worn out zan I zought." As you put the letter back together, you tease a little, "Even _you_ sneaked up on me at ze library, non?"

"Very funny, Fleur. You better get used to that," she counters right back, crossing her arms in that playful defiance of hers.

You set the letter in your bag while she stares at you. When you're done and carefully close the bag, she adds in a concerned tone, speaking slowly, "You do look tired, you know. Very tired. And we still have classes all afternoon. Are you ready for that?"

The bell rings and you frown, realizing it's time to go, "I will 'ave to deal wiz it. Double Potions for me."

Many younger boys and girls are still swarming up the large marble stairway or filing for the Transfiguration Department. The smaller troop of seventh-years marches in front of you and becomes more compact, funneling into tight duos and trios to disappear down the narrow stone staircase to the dungeons.

As they pass you by, some of your friends notice your presence and a couple of them steal fleeting glances at the younger brunette by your side. You consider the chance to make introductions, but Hermione is oblivious about the nearby company.

The brunette's eyes are locked on Harry and the two redheads walking together through the Entrance Hall. She takes a couple of steps their way, but then turns with a frown and whispers, "Watch out for Snape, Fleur. Be careful, alright?"

"Oui. You too," you reply, warmed by her worried tone. "I will see you after dinner."

"Deal." With a lopsided smile, she spins on her heels and dashes up the stairs with her companions. You briefly notice Ronald and Fierce-girl's stares, until you remember about your own friends and, with a quick look around, you realize that all of them are already gone.

Gripping your bag, you follow their trail, bringing up the rear of the group. You move quickly down the steps, the sound of their soft voices and carefree laughter carrying all the way up to you in this confined space.

It doesn't take long for you to catch up with them, but the cheerful whispering dies out the very moment you reach the Dungeon Corridor. In an unspoken agreement, everyone remains silent during the short stride to the door of the classroom.

Most of the students are now shivering from the cold, and warming charms start to be muttered profusely. From the unsurprised look of the Slytherins and the automatic way they perform the spells, it's easy to guess this is a part of their routine. You wonder about the temperature in their sleeping quarters, which you've heard are down here somewhere, and a fresh shudder runs down your spine.

Your mind defensively returns to steaming cups of hot chocolate, warm pyjamas, soft-

A long whining creak resounds loudly, startling the entire group into noticing you've been granted permission to enter. The door to the classroom swings fully open and you all go inside. Under the professor's severe stare, a soft rustle of robes is the only sound to be heard as you take your regular seats.

While you wait in place for the last stragglers to settle down, you slowly scan the room for the umpteenth time. As always, there's a complete lack of any cheerful décor.

The dark stone walls and floor, those monotonous candlelit brackets and all the shelved jars of raw ingredients only add up into something... hmm, _spooky_, if not a bit unsettling. And you haven't even factored in the occasional samples of weird smells or the effects of the fumes when there's any brewing in the works.

You exchange glances with your friends and their glum expressions are enough for you to know their thoughts are not very far from yours.

"We are moving on to advanced healing potions," the professor begins. All eyes and ears are immediately drawn to him. The Potions master of Hogwarts barely moves his lips and his voice is but a whisper, but you know every student in the classroom can understand him just fine. "You will start with a NEWT-level mixture used in every Hospital: the Blood-Replenishing Potion. It is a three-stage process. Today, we prepare the first stage. You will work in pairs. All rise now."

He quickly calls out the names of each duo, showing them to their designated tables. It soon becomes clear that the professor is deliberately breaking up close friends and matching students of different schools.

So on top of producing a difficult potion, this will be a socializing exercise as well, working side by side with a partner you don't know well on your toughest challenge. Sounds just about right, considering Professor Snape is the one to devise it all.

"Miss Bampton and Miss Delacour, take the center table in the back," he instructs.

Silently, you nod at your companion for the afternoon and you both walk to the free spot at the back of the classroom.

When everyone is sorted, he adds silkily, in carefully drawn-out words, "When correctly made, this potion can save lives. If you don't pay attention, you will cause anemia or turn blood so thick that it will not flow. You want to be very careful. Only acceptable potions will be allowed for testing. Perfect potions, should any of you produce them," he remarks, lips curling into a sneer, "are to receive top grades and will be offered to Madam Pomfrey at the Hospital Wing."

This makes a few heads snap up and many sit straighter, already shuffling through the pages on their "Advanced Potion-Making" books in search for details.

"Instructions are on the board," a flick of his wand makes them appear there and he goes on, "and everything else you need, in the store cupboard," with another wave of his wand, its front doors spring open. "You have an hour and a half. Begin."

You start to double check the instructions on your book against the tiny scrawled lines on the blackboard. As you had suspected, it's no surprise that he set you in pairs to tackle this potion.

The list of ingredients alone takes two whole pages. The methods require attention to minimum details, from size and color of components to the careful handling of the cauldron. There'll be a constant need for changes in temperature, stirring direction and the timely adding of ingredients. It's a _nightmare_.

Yvonne Bampton, the dirty blonde Ravenclaw that will be your partner for this potion, brings her stool closer and starts to discuss the proceedings. She asks to handle the ingredients, so you'll tend to the actual brewing. You break down a list of components to collect and leave to pick them up from the cupboard, while the girl arranges the tools needed at the table.

As soon as you're back, roots, horns and jars are spread out in an orderly fashion and the book is set in a way that both of you have easy access to read it. Yvonne pulls the brass scale in front of her and weighs the four initial ingredients while you initiate the flames under the cauldron and take the ladle.

The classroom is fairly quiet, all students doubling over their tables in deep concentration. The professor is writing at his desk and glancing around on occasion, checking for anything unusual that could demand his attention. He's probably waiting for you all to advance further along the instructions in order to begin his inspection of the cauldrons.

You thank the highest of heavens that at least Professor Snape is one to keep your adrenaline levels on a constant high. From what you've heard, if this class had been under the History of Magic ghost-professor, it would have meant a done deal for your brain.

Trying not to blink, fixing unexistant creases in your robes and changing the hand dragging the ladle are some of the amusing little things you come up with to stop yourself from dozing off.

A quarter of an hour later, vapours from the eighteen concoctions are mixing together close to the ceiling, creating a dark mist that the candlelight from the torches penetrates with difficulty. Professor Snape stands up and starts his slow and thorough survey, sweeping from desk to desk to stare down his crooked nose at the potions.

Yvonne just pestle-grinded the dragon horns, handing you the bowl with the fine powder to add to the mixture. And now the boring part begins, with a long time of stewing clockwise to be followed by a few counter-clockwise turns, all before the next ingredient is due.

You spell the ladle to keep the same rotation rate and sit down, counting down the minutes to go. Your companion is already distracted, clearly more interested in starting a whispery chat with the girls around than in keeping track of the potion-making.

With nothing else to do, fatigue starts to really settle in and weigh you down.

The darkness, the quiet, the vapours, the warmth, it's all slowly rocking your mind into a haze.

Every blink lasts longer.

Every time it becomes increasingly hard to order your eyes to open up again.

Until they don't.

And your thoughts disconnect from reality, stranded away in the realm of dreams by an overworked brain that reached its limits...

"We have _Fleur_, here," someone speaks loudly beside you, touching your arm.

You jump up, shaking your head and rubbing your eyes. Realizing what happened, you check the clock in a hurry and find out it's been only eleven minutes in dreamland. The potion is alright. You sigh in relief and take a look around.

Professor Snape is making remarks on a cauldron at the front of the class while the large group of girls in the back is enjoying the stewing time to do some catching up.

"You're a champion too, Fleur," a Slytherin girl that you've never met says in an unflattering tone, as if she'd just realized this for the first time. "Come on, tell us. What's he like?"

You give her a surprised look, "Hmmm? Je suis désolée. I 'ad my mind somewhere else... Who are you asking about?"

The girl checks the professor's position to make sure it's safe to keep on whispering and follows with a low hiss, "We're talking about the knockout of all knockouts."

At your raised eyebrows and still surprised expression, she rolls her eyes and proceeds, "Oh, come on, silly. I mean Viktor Krum, the most desirable bachelor in the premises. Who else?"

Your eyes move on their own to search the front of the class, where said bachelor is quietly working with a pale Slytherin boy. Snorting, you shake your head and your lips twist, caught between a scoff and a sneer. Luckily, the fumes conceal your face well enough that the group of girls doesn't notice your reaction.

It's for the best. There's no point in getting into an argument centered on Mr. Krum not being your exact definition of a knockout. By a long shot.

"I met Mr. Krum a few years ago. 'E is a 'ardworking student at 'is school, very dedicated to Quidditch," you finally answer, mentally distracted by more interesting matters, such as comparing the color and odor of the fumes puffing from different cauldrons.

Smirking, a brunette Hufflepuff whose first name you didn't grasp (her surname, Applebee, was rather amusing and hard to forget, though) laughs mockingly, "Is that the best you can say on that hot piece of temptation?"

That gets you sufficiently annoyed. You're about to speak your mind freely about how you don't feel tempted at all by the boy, when your glance scans the nearby assembly and you're surprised to realize that at least ten girls are staring at you. They even moved closer into a tight formation, avidly waiting for more.

Frowning, you put some effort into scraping your brain for a bit more of information, while still keeping an eye on Professor Snape's slow progression to your part of the classroom. It's a difficult task. Sure, he's a nice guy, famous (yet humble, which is a unique thing in itself) and there's a great future ahead of him with his flying abilities. The main issue, though, is that he's not interesting to you in _that_ way.

"Uh... 'E is very respectful and polite, a true gentleman," you say slowly. "Mr. Krum is also quiet and keeps to 'imself." You almost cringe at your lame comments about the Durmstrang champion, but really, what else can you say? Truth be told, you don't know him well. "Hmm... I remember it is pleasant to talk to 'im."

"Yes, yes, but what of the juicy stuff? Does he have a secret girlfriend waiting at home?" Miss Applebee cuts in.

The Slytherin girl takes the lead again, asking with a suggestive tone that provokes a round of giggling, "Is he a _player_, and I don't mean on the Quidditch field? How many fans did he ever date? What's his reputation as a kisser?"

Sharper now and on alert, your eyes dart from one unrelenting stare to the next. These girls mean business and you _so_ not want to have anything to do with this. In a very unemotional voice you reply slowly, "I do not know 'im closely. We met at a formal dinner years ago, zen talked for a few minutes and zat was all."

Satisfied with their disgruntled looks, you shrug and finally drop the subject, trying to go back to reading instructions. A few of the girls mumble grim complaints, but you don't understand most of what they say.

Weirdly enough, the parts you do understand sound a lot like they think the reason you're not sharing good information on Viktor is because you want him all to yourself. It almost makes you laugh. Your brain must be in a worse state than you'd thought.

Shaking your head, you realize Professor Snape has reached the back of the classroom and is making sharp comments on the cauldrons to your left. The girls will probably leave Mr. Krum alone now. The potions are not going to prepare themselves and no one can afford to lag. Miss Bampton concentrates on the potions book and you both keep on working.

It's time to move forward with the instructions, so you grasp the ladle and start the counter-clockwise stirring. You're fairly pleased when the professor stops in front of your table, looks inside the cauldron, then checks Yvonne's technique for chopping roots, but remains silent and prowls ahead.

His eyes glitter dangerously at Miss Applebee, who is on a table to your right, speaking and gesturing excitedly at any neighbors that pay attention. Noticing the professor's stare, her partner lands a rather heavy elbow on her hand. With a yelp, the girl goes back to grinding ingredients, not daring to glance up.

"Ten points from Hufflepuff, Miss Applebee," he says coldly, but adds no comment on their brewing potion.

Once Professor Snape has returned to the front of the class, his black cloak whisking behind him, most of the girls resume their stealthy whispering, Yvonne being one of them.

Broken bits of the lively chat going on are loud enough that you hear them, and you end up finding out that the large group of girls is gossiping about every possible detail concerning Viktor Krum, exchanging the most unbelievable theories on why he remained alone all week.

Luckily, you realize the investigative fan club has only shown interest in following Viktor Krum's moves. Had they been tailing Hermione, the entire school would know by now what really happened during the week.

You flinch. Wouldn't _that_ be something?

The peppy giggling witches now start to sound like mathematical geniuses, calculating the statistical probabilities of the famous Seeker being 'on the market' once again, since no witnesses caught him near the bookworm Gryffindor that they all secretly (and some not so secretly) envy.

You frown, not liking where their conversation is heading, and it startles you to see the Slytherin girl leaning in your direction to whisper with enthusiasm, "What about _her_, Fleur? I saw you talking to her in the Entrance Hall. We don't understand what Viktor could've seen in such a young witch. So what that she's best friends with the Potter champion? She's not even an OWL student."

There's a hint of scorn in her voice that has your eyes narrowing in reflex.

"Right. Do you know anything about that _Granger_ girl?" Miss Applebee snickers.

"Oui, I know 'er a little," you reply slowly. Your hands start to shake weakly, so you take a deep breath to calm down and pause. This would be a bad place to cause a scene.

Spinning your head to look squarely at the obnoxious students, your grip on the ladle becomes very tight and your free hand curls under the table, nails digging into your palm, "Miss Granger is a very kind and caring 'uman being, if only a bit shy. As you probably know, zat girl is in Gryffindor 'Ouse, where zey are chosen for courage and loyalty. She is a great companion to _all_ of 'er friends, not only 'Arry Potter."

Your thoughts stray to Hermione and it becomes all too easy to find the right things to say, "Miss Granger is also a much smarter student zan you give 'er credit. I know for a fact zat she studies advanced magic far beyond OWL level in 'er spare time."

Pleased at how steady your voice sounds now, the next words are chosen carefully, "I zink she 'as no tolerance for injustice of any type. Last year you must 'ave seen 'er all over ze school, campaigning for ze 'ouse-elves, non? Zat is something I 'ave _never_ 'eard anyone in ze wizarding world do before."

Some of them trade awkward glances and you can tell they didn't expect any of this.

"And what about ze Yule Ball?" Now there are fallen faces all around and you just know you touched a very raw nerve, "I suppose you all noticed zat she looked beautiful zat night. Ze proper date of a champion, hmm?"

In a softer tone, you continue whispering and they lean closer to listen, "Zere must be much more to 'er zan ze little I know, but perhaps zose are some of ze reasons for 'is choice."

And with that, you stop and wait, almost daring anyone to argue against what turned out to be quite a long monologue. To your inner satisfaction, most of the small group seems surprised beyond the ability to reply.

"Whatever," Miss Applebee snaps rather loudly, waving a hand around in a derisive gesture. "Get a grip. Why praise her like that?"

"I am not bending ze truth in any way. You should learn more about someone before judging zem as you did," you retort evenly.

"Alright, you can stop now," the Hufflepuff raises both hands in surrender. The girl then searches the room to check the coast is still clear and mumbles with an impatient tone, "You sure had a lot more to say about _her_ than _him_. Merlin. If I didn't know you want Viktor too, I'd say _you_ had an interest in that girl."

Your eyes widen momentarily and parts of your speech start to replay in your mind. Were you so obvious?

And then you suddenly frown, realizing the meaning of her words. Who ever said you wanted anything with Viktor Krum? Is that what's being said in school? That you're after _him_?

Through the corner of your eye, you notice Yvonne watching you closely and you try to bring yourself to relax again. Perhaps she's on to something, but you won't fuel her curiosity.

As stealthily as possible, you check if there's anyone else suddenly showing an unusual interest in analyzing you.

The Hogwarts girls are either worried about their potions or following Professor Snape around. Good.

Glancing at your friends, all seem a bit distracted and mostly indifferent now. Great.

Except one. Oops.

One who has a very smug smile on her face and greets your stare with a knowing wink.

Pretending to check the instructions, you lower your head to the book, just as you feel your cheeks burn. The others might be oblivious, but someone who knows you enough and was paying attention would've made the connection on the spot. And you just had to give yourself away right in front of the one person that wouldn't miss it even if she went blind, didn't you?

"Don't be so harsh to Fleur, Tamsin. You've done enough of that today."

'Oh, right, _Tamsin_ Applebee was her name.'

Wait. What?

Your eyebrows leap and your neck creaks when it quickly whips around to look at Yvonne, who was the one to just surprise everyone by cutting in sharply to stand up... for you.

The blonde matches the Hufflepuff's glare, "You shouldn't complain. None of us should. Fleur answered our questions. We all heard what she had to say." She continues, looking around at the rest of the small audience, "Can't you see why she's defending the Granger girl? They're friends and we're being terrible about her. I think we're lucky Fleur didn't take offense at the things we said. Some of us would've hexed anyone who did that to a friend of ours. Let's stop giving her a hard time, shall we?"

Miss Applebee and a few others mumble half-plausible apologies under their breaths and go back to tending to their steaming potions. It's time for you to do the same, calling Yvonne to help with her part.

The blonde nods and starts to prepare more ingredients. While she's crushing dry Mandrake roots into a thin powder, she suddenly whispers, "I'm sorry we put you through that. I didn't realize it would go so far."

You shake your head, "Non, please. I want to zank you for speaking like zat. It was a surprise for me. A good surprise."

She gives you a small smile, which you return in earnest, and keeps on working. You correct the temperature of the flames and start alternating the stirring direction, already checking for the next sequence of ingredients. Not long after that, a long yawn and the need to stretch make you lose a bit of control over the ladle. You grip it right in time for the counter-clockwise turn, though you can't see a thing through your now watery eyes.

It takes a series of hard blinks and rubbing for them to become more focused, but you can feel the puffiness and they must probably be all reddened up. That's when Yvonne adds the Mandrakes to the cauldron and spares you a glance, "What's the matter with you?"

"Tired," you reply with a shrug, not elaborating.

"Yeah. Looks like you could use a break. Why don't you go freshen up? There's nothing else to do for the next ten minutes, anyway. I can take over till you're back," she offers, already stepping closer to reach and take the ladle from your hand.

You realize it's a grand idea and thank her, leaving on the spot for the nearest bathroom. Quickly finding a sink with a large mirror ahead, you splash generous amounts of cold water on your face and blink away the sleepiness.

It's only a temporary solution and you know you're not doing very well. Sighing, you fix your hair neatly and take a long look at the unusual reflexion you see before you, wishing it's the last time you ever have that face on.

As you return to the classroom, you remember about your lunch and search your bag all the walk back for the small jar from Dobby. When your fingers close around it, you notice one of your Beauxbatons friends is at your table, working with Yvonne and laughing at something that must have been very funny, if their wide grins are any hint.

While setting your things in place, Yvonne starts to explain as soon as you're within hearing range, "Fleur, Coraline came over to give me a hand."

The raven-haired girl smiles and raises a hand at you in that humorous and overly confident attitude of hers, "Do not zank me, Fleur. I wanted to see if zis girl could 'andle your cauldron."

The blonde snorts playfully and crosses her arms, "Give me a break. We've been partners before, Cora. You know I can handle a cauldron just fine."

You shake your head and interrupt their banter, getting ready to continue your task, "Are you done already wiz ze potion?"

"Not so fast, mon amie," your friend replies with a smirk. "What would be ze fun in zat? We still left you, uhm, let me see," and she mockingly squints, faking a difficult mental exercise, "eight zings to do. But ze next five ingredients are all prepared for you."

Yvonne shows you the steps left and the organized ingredients. The vapours are the right color and smell. They've been doing a great job.

You take over the ladle, keeping up the adequate stirring as you go over the next instruction slowly.

Shortly after, Cora returns to her own table taking Yvonne with her under the pretense of picking up more Murtlap tentacles. One teases the other all the way, their giggling loud enough for you to follow their trail.

You quickly take a look to check where the professor is and make sure they're out of his reach. Surely enough, they're completely safe. Professor Snape is still at the front of the classroom, thoroughly engaged in reprimanding a Durmstrang-Gryffindor pair that managed to produce a potion with silvery pink fumes, when everyone else's is a deep green.

You proceed with the potion-making on your own and you can feel that you're reaching your limits. It's good to know there's little left to do before you can call it a day, for you're feeling utterly defeated.

The rest of the class is a blur. You pinch yourself more than one time to try and stay alert. Weariness is wrecking your ability to focus. You follow the instructions as carefully as you can, wishing time would speed up to put an end to all this. Luckily, Miss Bampton finally decides to make the walk back to your table, eagerly starting to cut the Murtlap tentacles she brought along. A little company seems great.

The blonde girl interrupts your musings to state in a curious tone, "Fleur, please help me understand. Why is Cora such a control freak in Potions? She didn't let me go near her cauldron. Was she always like that? Or is it because of Snape?"

You chuckle when you catch a glimpse of Cora's approaching figure and the size of her pout. She must have overheard the blonde Ravenclaw. "I zink zere is something you should know, Yvonne. Do not take Cora too seriously, except when it comes to cooking or potions. 'Er parents are renowned chefs and master potioneers in France."

"That's really cool," she replies in amusement.

"Oui, it is. Cora is pretty good 'erself," you state, smiling at your friend. "One day you should taste 'er _charlotte au chocolat_. It is unforgettable, I guarantee. She is a top student at Potions too."

"Wait a minute. I'm not bad with potions," the Ravenclaw retorts defensively, glancing at Cora.

Your friend looks her up and down, keeping her lips pursed. You raise an eyebrow at that and can't really tell if Cora is fooling around or not. Shaking your head, you move along with the instructions, not getting caught up in whatever is going on between them.

Yvonne frowns at Cora's attitude and turns to you again, "That was serious, then? While you were gone she was checking that I didn't mess up our potion?"

Keeping your head down, attention set on the cauldron, you answer innocently, "Oh, Cora is only playing around. It is probably because of some of zose absurd jokes in wizarding France about ze English and zeir potions. Just like ze English tease us on our duelling styles. You must 'ave 'eard zem, non?"

"No, I don't think I have," she answers in a low tone. Something seems weird, but you're so tired that you don't waste time trying to figure it out.

"Non?" you carefully glance around to check where Professor Snape is and then explain, "Zat ze English cannot brew potions by zemselves, so zey require constant supervision? It is a-" Your stare accidentally falls on Cora, who is raising a pointed finger in front of her mouth in the universal gesture for you to hush. She's also shaking her head so fast that it makes you wonder if she could get whiplash on her own.

"_Whaaat_?" Yvonne interjects in a very shrill voice and your brain finally catches up with the heavy tension in the air.

Uh-oh... Too late.

Startled, you see Cora slap her forehead and scamper back to her table.

The blonde glares at your retreating friend, "Oh, you come back here. So you think I need supervision? I'll give you supervision."

You cringe at her tone. How were you to know a bad joke could trigger such a response? Under your breath, you make an oath to never again say an English-French rivalry joke out loud. Ever.

Yvonne follows after Cora and the two start a heated argument far away enough that you can't hear them. It makes you think about how humans can be really weird sometimes. This is something you'd never see happening to Veela, whatever village they come from.

In-between stirs, you steal a few glances at the bickering pair of girls, engaged in their enthusiastic debate. When Cora looks at you in the middle of it, you mouth a hurried 'Sorry' and she only shrugs, scrunching her lips to a side.

You can see one is as relentless as the other. It makes you wish you had a fraction of their considerable disposition to carry you through the last bits of this awful class. For here you are, all alone again to deal with the potion.

Around the time you're struggling through the three last steps for this stage of the potion, your brain is about to give in, jumbling measurements, ingredients, weights, colors and ways to stir.

You catch yourself rereading the same line six times in a row and the words seem to simply bounce off your skull, never sinking inside. Right when you are ready to start pulling your hair in frustration, Professor Snape roams closer to your side of the classroom, investigating the contents of the cauldrons again.

Miss Bampton notices him and decides it's time for an appropriate interval from the discussion. In a careful way, the blonde makes the walk back to your side and picks up her sharp knife to finish chopping the tentacles.

The professor announces in a sharp voice, "Twenty minutes left. Check your cauldrons. The potions should have a weak red sheen now."

A few hushed and desperate remarks start to pop up from various tables. Cries of 'Ours is too thick' and 'Why is it turning blue' are squeaked quite loudly.

You slowly keep count of the last necessary counter-clockwise stirs. Glancing at the next line of the instructions, you state in a low voice, "After you add zose tentacles, please mix in ze last ingredient while I lower ze temperature to ze right level so we can let it mature for next week."

Yvonne hums her agreement, collects the cut tentacles in her hands and carefully drops them into the boiling potion.

Grateful all this is almost over, you look at the sinking tentacles and frown, thinking hard about why this seems a bit wrong. You stare and stare, peeking into the cauldron, but you can't find the problem.

After carefully checking the instructions again, you at last grumble at the blonde, "Zose tentacles were cut lengthwise, Yvonne. Zey 'ad to be sliced crosswise."

Still noticing movement through the corner of your eye, you quickly add, "Stop everything."

Turning to glance at her, you watch mesmerized as she's tipping the last contents of a small jar into the cauldron.

A small... jar? Your eyebrows zoom up when you realize it's Dobby's jar, with pomegranate arils. From your forgotten would-be lunch!

You reach out to still her wrist, exclaiming urgently, "Zat is not an ingredient to zis potion!"

She gives you a puzzled look and then stares at the cauldron with wide eyes, "W-what?"

You try to capture the small speckles of scarlet with the ladle, but they are already scattered and sinking throughout the mixture, that is turning a rich pearly white now and chancing a few angry sputters. All you can do is put out the flames under the cauldron and wait for it to cool down on its own. At this point, you wouldn't risk meddling any further by attempting to cool it magically.

The purplish thick and absolutely stinking smoke that spews from the pot is enough of a warning. All the nearby students, including Yvonne and yourself, start to retreat away from the increasingly blobbing paste. The possibility of being splattered turns into a very real concern.

Even Professor Snape proceeds with caution, wand raised in front of him as he makes his way to your table, giving the cauldron an imperiously icy glare, as if he could stare it down into insignificance. He analyzes the mixture through suspicious eyes, his hooked nose taking in the scent of the fumes.

Finally, he flicks his wand to vanish the mess... and nothing happens. He repeats the spell another time and it's just as ineffective.

"I have never-" his words are cut mid-sentence as a loud fizzle makes everybody jump back. A few droplets hit the professor's cloak, singeing the material at once. By now, everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to look.

A few hushed comments, some colorful swearing and many gasps spring all around, particularly with the professor's eyes busy on his clothing and the potion. He must be trying to determine what could have gone wrong.

Professor Snape knows his potions very well. He can usually tell in seconds which mistake was performed by a student, whether it involves the amount of ingredients, the order they were added to the potion or the way they were processed. Of course, there's no chance he can take an educated guess now, since he isn't aware that an unintended ingredient was released into the cauldron.

"Silence," the professor barks, taking a few steps to stand beside you. "What," he goes on coldly, not tearing his eyes away from the fuming cauldron and the heavy cloud floating above it, "happened here?"

He's not looking at either of you, but you know he is very certain about who are the owners of the gurgling chaos. The fresh adrenaline rush suddenly rids you of all signs of tiredness.

You take a look at your terrified companion and start to whisper, as calmly as you can, "We were following ze instructions correctly until ze two last ingredients. Zen... hmmm... ze Murtlap tentacles were cut lengthwise."

"That would not have caused _this_," he remarks, lazily lifting the tip of his wand in the direction of the cauldron. "What else?" he demands in a low voice.

The fizzle becomes a loud hiss and more students back away from the dramatic cauldron.

Reluctantly, you lower your voice as much as you can, hoping no one else can hear you, "Today I was to 'ave pomegranate arils for lunch. Zat small flask," you say, pointing at it, "was full of zem. I did not 'ave time to-"

Your explanation is interrupted by a round of mini-explosions coming from the potion. Uncertain on how to continue anymore, you stay silent and brace yourself for the professor's reaction.

Surprisingly, he doesn't release his contained fury or resort to sneering. "Arils. Pomegranate arils." A deep frown creases his forehead, his greasy hair covering most of his face. He seems to be considering this information, whispering just as low as you had, "Fortifiers for your Veela phasing, I suppose?"

'He knows this?' Disconcerted, you only manage to nod and your attention bolts forward as the cauldron becomes excessively quiet.

Its lower half starts to disintegrate and globs of the opaque paste splash on the desk, forming a thin layer that spreads at large. The mixture discharges ominous sparks as it goes and destroys everything in its path, except the glass jar of the arils, which stands alone as a glittering island in the middle of the impenetrable cream.

Professor Snape observes in rapt attention and the potion doesn't miss a chance to impress with its devastating ability. Soon, small holes grow wider on the table and the liquid plops down to the floor, in a shower of small beads that carve their own path on the stones to fuse together in a pool.

"A stimulant," the professor murmurs to himself. "Resistance to magic. Eats through fabric, metal, wood, ston-"

With a weak crinkling, the jar finally gives in, cracks to pieces that float briefly, and then disintegrate into the mixture.

"And glass," he adds, smoothly.

A few minutes later nothing more has happened, so he carefully moves forward to examine the cauldron, the table and the potion. He tries a few spells on it, but you soon realize from the wand movements that the concoction also resists being scoured, shrunk, siphoned and set on fire. It can be levitated and frozen, however. The desk and cauldron remain damaged, 'Reparo' after 'Reparo'.

Slowly, the rest of the class loses interest and goes back to finishing their potions. Yvonne and you return to the table, finally noticing up close the full extent of the destruction accomplished by your afternoon's work. And all because of a silly distraction.

_Your_ silly distraction.

Groaning, you try to picture the look on Madame Maxime's face once she learns of this. Or your mother's. You ruffle your hair, clenching and unclenching your hands until some of the frustration eases down.

Tools and ingredients are gone, the table is a mess and it doesn't even look like there ever was a cauldron nearby. The professor is still testing the potion with non-verbal spells.

Following a momentary inspiration, you pull out an empty flask from your bag and put an Unbreakable Charm on it.

"Glass seems to be ze toughest substance against it," you explain under Professor Snape's dangerous stare. Setting the flask on the floor, you twirl your wand just so to separate a small amount of the potion from the main puddle and levitate it to fill the container. "Perhaps wiz an Unbreakable Charm it will resist."

After sealing it shut, you levitate the vessel to the table, avoiding any contact with it. Time passes by and it remains intact. Professor Snape conjures a larger glass jar, making it unbreakable too, and then seals the rest of the potion inside. With a flick of his wand, the jar floats to his desk. He picks up your flask and turns it in his hand, watching the potion inside.

He then addresses the class, "You should have finished for today. Clear away. The potions will stew for a week. Homework: twenty inches of parchment on the Blood-Replenishing Potion, to be handed next week, before your exams."

"Follow me," the professor adds, calling both of you. Gathering your things, you carefully wander to the front of the class as everyone else quickly leaves for dinner.

Once you're alone, he starts in a cold voice, "I expect an essay about this on my desk by Monday morning. The list of ingredients and the methods are to be explained in details, including the additions that caused this accident. In the meantime, I shall test your mixture. It might have some use."

You both nod in silence. His last remark, subtle as it is, proves he is genuinely interested in the potion. Coming from an expert potioneer, it's saying something. Who knows? Maybe this wasn't a complete waste of time and ingredients.

"Next week you will need a mature first-stage potion if you are to keep up with the class," he goes on smoothly. "I do not tolerate delays. Tomorrow is your last chance to prepare it in time."

Your brows furrow at that, but Yvonne is the one to speak first, "We have classes all day, sir."

Actually, you don't have classes in the morning while Yvonne does, since your choices on NEWT classes were a little different, but you keep that information to yourself. The potion needs to be done in pairs, so you'll have to work it out somehow.

"Indeed?" The professor's lips curl dangerously and he makes the decision for you, "Then you will start after dinner. Be warned: there are two more stages to complete the potion. Final grades depend on them. I suggest you pay close attention this time."

"Oui, professor," you reply, nodding at him.

Yvonne turns to leave and stops when she notices you're not following.

"I need a minute," you tell her and she assents, walking out the door.

Turning to face the professor, you make a serious request, though you avoid letting it sound too much like a plea on the off chance that it'll make him less tempted to give you a straight 'no', "Professor, I would like to keep my small flask."

His dark eyes narrow considerably, "Why?"

"It is a custom in my family, sir... My grandmuzzer always told me to learn more from my failures zan from my victories," you whisper with as much dignity as you can, considering the situation.

"Be that as it may, this is one dangerous potion, Miss Delacour. I am not even sure what it is," he replies calmly.

"I only want it as a reminder of what 'appened today, professor," you counter, keeping your tone neutral.

His face remains unreadable, his heavy stare uncomfortably set on you. Seconds tick away and neither of you bend. You wonder if he's trying to catch you in a lie, so you don't even consider blinking. There's no reason to fear when you're being as truthful as you can, right? Or so you keep telling yourself.

Finally, he says coolly, "Very well, you may take it."

He pauses to wait your reaction and adds in a silky voice after you quickly nod, "No one is to know of this. Remember, that vial remains sealed. It is a souvenir and no more."

"Merci, Professor," you consent, reaching to collect the container and place it in your bag.

When you're about to leave, he surprises you, proceeding in a reproachful tone, "Miss Delacour, this wouldn't have happened in my class if you were taking care of yourself." He briefly looks in disdain at the creamy potion, "You missed your supplements today."

You nod, keeping your head hanging low.

"Are you sleeping well?" he inquires coldly.

"More or less. Usually. Last night," you shake your head, biting your lip, "was an exception."

"Have you been using magic - Veela magic?" he presses on.

You start to feel uneasy with the interrogation, "I practice a little every day."

"Under guidance?" his voice is barely a whisper.

You lift your stare to meet his, "Non. I am learning from books until I go 'ome."

"Is it overtaxing?" he inquires, openly analyzing you.

You frown and tilt your head in surprise, unable to grasp the meaning of his words.

He narrows those dark eyes, clearly irritated at having to explain himself further, and he carries on slowly enough to make his displeasure known, "Is there physical pain after the use of such magic?"

"No-" you stop when you remember about today in the library and you open and close your hand a few times. "Hmm... Oui. Only today." And then you hastily add in a "Sir" which you'd completely forgotten about since the sequence of questions began.

He doesn't take notice, to your relief.

The professor mutters something you can't understand under his breath, grasping his quill to scribble a few lines on a roll of parchment. "Miss Delacour, listen closely. If you skip sleep, you are forbidden to practice Veela magic. When you don't take your supplements, you must not use Veela magic, either. And you should never," the stress on the word is enough for you to understand the gravity intended, "miss sleep, forget the supplements and perform Veela magic in the same day. Today should serve as a warning."

"Oui, professor," you reply weakly, completely baffled by the direction of the conversation.

The professor hands you the parchment, "You will present this to Madam Pomfrey, at the Hospital Wing. The nurse will give you a phial of Sleeping Draught. Keep it in your room to use when necessary. Under no circumstances are you to stay awake all night."

Another "Oui, professor" and you store his note away in your bag.

"Take the fortifiers daily, always before lunch," he continues with his instructions as he walks to the door of his classroom. "Be careful when you try magic. Without tutoring, you do not know what you are doing."

You follow behind with wide eyes, uttering one more "Oui, professor."

He stops by the door and turns, black eyes glittering at you, and starts to speak even more slowly, accentuating every word with unnerving precision, "A last word of advice before you go, Miss Delacour. If you ever return in similar conditions as today, taking risks in my class, you will not have a second chance to brew your potion. It will be a straight zero and a full month of detentions for you, champion or not."

Your swallow comes in a struggle to unclog your throat.

"Do you understand?" he asks smoothly, opening the door for you.

With a last "Oui, professor," you nod and finally take your leave.

The door swiftly closes behind you and the Dungeon Corridor never before felt this inviting. You just stay there, blinking several times, still processing the one-on-one with the Potions master of Hogwarts.

A short distance away you see Yvonne. The blonde girl waits for you to catch up with her, "Some of the girls are still in the bathroom, can you believe that? They take too long to fix their make-up. Wanna go with me to dinner? There's still some time left until the bell rings."

"Oui, sure," you smile at her, the shock slowly fading away. Your brain is as worked up as it could be. Something tells you the professor knew what he was talking about. But how did a wizard learn details about Veela that you didn't find in your books?

In private books that not even someone like him can access. You frown. Books that taught you the benefits of good rest, but failed to mention that sleeping a full night's sleep was an absolute necessity.

There's something else bothering you a lot more, though... Where is your mother, the one who should be telling you all that? Sleep, diet, magic… What else is there that you don't know? When do the questions stop and where do you find answers at last?

Still, no matter how bad it all went, you have the very weird feeling that the professor wasn't as awful as he could've been. The potion was a complete failure and you've seen him flawlessly demolish other students' morale for far less than you accomplished today. In a sense and in his own twisted way, he served you a light punishment, but he also offered you help and advice. And realizing this is quite unsettling in itself.

When you take in consideration the destruction done to his classroom, the loss of ingredients and his unusual knowledge of Veela affairs, you really don't know what to make of the afternoon.

"I thought he was going to skin us alive," Yvonne whispers, shuddering.

"Oui, me too," you agree quietly.

The blonde remains silent, perhaps brooding over what happened. From the little you know of the Ravenclaw students who share NEWT classes with you, she's probably never been associated with a failed project since she entered Hogwarts.

You take the stairs side by side until you start to hear soft laughter coming from the Entrance Hall, and then the blonde finally decides to slow down and talk. "Fleur, I'm really, really sorry. I was so into that _thing_ with Cora. If only I'd read the instructions..."

After a long sigh, you're completely honest with her, "Yvonne, I was almost falling asleep where I stood. It is surprising zat nothing worse 'appened until zat part of ze potion. I need to apologize, too. It was my fault ze arils were zere in ze first place."

She gives you a surprised look. "Then, you're not mad at me?" she asks, in a hopeful tone.

You offer her a smile and shake your head, "Non. Are you mad wiz me?"

"I'm too shocked to be anything," she replies weakly and you can relate to her reaction, knowing your nerves are terribly strung, too.

Yvonne continues with a frown, "Well, I am a little mad with myself. This only proved Cora right. I can't stand it that now she thinks I stink at Potions."

"I am sure it is not what Cora zinks of you, Yvonne," you say, trying to ease her worries. "She was ze best Potions student in our school. It was difficult for any of us to keep up wiz 'er. But she is also very friendly. Cora is one of zose rare people zat looks for ze best in uzzers. It is why she is never alone. Zat girl is... hmm... 'ow do you say zis? Ze life of ze party, non?"

She chuckles despite the gloom in her eyes, "Yeah, I guess that fits Cora to a T."

"Ze zings I told you, do not believe zem. Zey were only bad, shallow jokes. You should not take zem to 'eart," you tell her sincerely. "Tomorrow we will nail zis potion, alright? Zen you and I will feel a lot better."

"That sounds good to me," she states with more confidence. The Ravenclaw finally allows herself to smile a bit. She then gives you a long look and adds with a smirk, "You are a really good _friend_ too, you know. It was great what you did, speaking for the Granger girl."

You decide not to make remarks on the suggestive way she stressed the word 'friend' and to avoid thinking too much on the intended meaning behind it. Pretending not to notice anything, you quickly turn it around, "And you 'elped me zere too."

She smiles and you know she saw through your attempt at covering it up. At least she doesn't push it further, "I'd say we helped each other. Tomorrow we'll be a better team, yes?"

A few hasty words in French reach you then, and you turn on the spot to search for their source.

"Fleur, attends-moi."

While you're distracted, Yvonne leaps up the final steps and smiles mischievously when her eyes rake the Entrance Hall, "Looks like I have a bit more _supervision_ to do, Fleur. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

And with those parting words, the blonde girl strides away from your line of sight. There goes more trouble for Cora.

You go back a few steps, soon meeting piercing green eyes framed by lank auburn hair. And this is the very person you knew would be hunting you down. Alix, your closest friend since childhood, the one that can read you like a book.

Your stomach anxiously sinks to pits you didn't know you had inside.

This trip to Hogwarts has witnessed your longest time apart. So close, and yet so far apart, each one focused on your own personal ordeals. You haven't once talked for hours, or spent nights awake like you used to at the dorm in Beauxbatons, sharing dreams and making plans for the future.

Since you discovered Hermione and your lone quest began, there were never right words or timing to say anything more personal, particularly considering that you didn't want to bring up your interesting brunette. And Alix has kept a bit of distance as well. Perhaps her stay at Hogwarts has been exciting as well.

The moment she sees you, her lips twist into a huge smirk, "The professor let you live, huh?"

You roll your eyes, but smile all the same, "It was a surprise, but yes, I'm still in one piece. Thanks for asking."

"No problem," she nudges your shoulder playfully. "I couldn't believe that was _your_ potion. Last time you did that, we were all in second year. Good old times, when we had our potion races on Professor Roubailleux's class. One of our group always destroyed half the classroom."

"Best of times. It was mostly Reva, though. Never Cora, and hardly ever you," you add with a smile.

She smiles back, but you notice it's rather small and a bit off, "And now here we are, to witness Fleur Delacour melt down her first English cauldron. I'm so proud of you."

You play along while it lasts, "Please. You keep that up and I might even blush."

Alix nods slowly and locks a challenging stare on yours. You hold your breath, knowing it won't take long now. Her eyes narrow. Here it comes.

"You _should_ be blushing, Fleur," she speaks in an accusatory tone, poking your forehead. She only does that when she's reasonably upset. Not good. "And we both know it has nothing to do with potions. How can you be hiding something like that from us? From _me_! Do I have to remind you of our friendship? Of the pact we made before coming here?"

"Oh, yes, I remember the pact very well," you cut in with a little impatience, in an attempt to regain some control over the situation. "After all, everyone stuck together after the Goblet made its decision, right?"

"Can you really blame anyone? They wanted the glory too, Fleur. _All_ the girls, even me, wished to be champions," she replies, and it's hard for you to imagine what it meant for them not to be chosen. "But when your name was called, it was fair. I cheered for you. And one by one, our friends came around."

You cross your arms and frown.

"I know, some were very stubborn," she adds with a provocative smirk, "but one look at those dragons did the trick. It worked wonders to change their minds."

"Good thing I survived, then," you say with obvious sarcasm.

Alix lifts an unamused eyebrow and goes on in a steady tone, "Yup, it proves you were the right choice. Do you think anyone disagrees?"

"At least not now," you reply, though still sourly.

"Alright, enough of that. Stop interrupting me, Fleur, and let's get to the point," she adds in a stern tone. "Can you please tell me why I have to find out by accident that my best friend is falling for an English witch? What's changed so much in these few months that you didn't tell me yourself?"

"Nothing changed. There was a lot to deal with since we arrived at 'Ogwarts," you explain calmly.

"No, no, no, girl. You can stop right there. I'm not letting you get away that easy. Did you really think I'd buy that?" she asks, her tone as fierce as her stare. "That's not the kind of news to keep to yourself. Wake up, Fleur. Take a look around. With those crazy Viktor Krum fans, you're going to need all your friends. Better be ready for when the word gets around."

"No. None of that, please," you say tiredly. "No word getting around."

That spikes her curiosity, "Oh? What's going on?"

"Nothing," you answer with a curt shrug. "I only want us to remain more private."

"_Us_? So you're an 'us' already. Wow, that was fast. How did I not see this?" She pauses, her eyes glassy and distant, clearly thinking. And then she regards you closely for a while, "You're afraid of gossip, aren't you? Oh, I know… It must be that Skeeter reporter. Is that it? You're a champion. That _witch_ will have a field day with another mini-scandal."

"No, I am not afraid," you answer slowly.

"Huh? Is _she_? The Granger girl?" She grasps your arm to get your full attention and her eyes narrow dangerously, "Are you saying she's embarrassed? Ashamed of you?"

"Of course not," you counter impatiently. "She's simply getting used to this, I think."

Alix gives you a skeptical look, enough to make you feel the need to explain yourself better, "It seems that I am her first... hmm, her first everything."

Right then, you remember that secret kiss at the Ball and your mood flatens somewhat. "Actually, _almost_ everything," you correct awkwardly.

"Look, I'm letting you off the hook now because we can't have a long talk here, but you owe me. Big time," she raises both eyebrows to emphasize her words.

With a furtive look backwards to check for eavesdroppers, Alix starts to pull you along, up the stairs. She chortles heartily and whispers closer to your ear, "Funny how those girls, oh so smart about Krum, didn't notice this. I could see what you were trying to hide through the fog across the room."

You snort in your best mocking way, "Alix, you are rambling. Please. Get to the point."

"I want the full story. Stop being so independent, or shy, or whatever it is that's keeping you from talking to us," she states bluntly. "It must be this awful English weather. You're more affected than us." She blinks a few times and keeps on offering wild explanations for her theory, "Or this girl is really getting to you. It could be the food, too. Bad for the figure, bad for the brain-"

"Rambling again," you interrupt before it goes on indefinitely.

"Sorry," she whispers and falls silent, gathering her thoughts. Her eyes take on a renewed sparkle and she starts again in a gentler tone, "Fleur, you and I shared everything since the day we met. Remember? And what about Beauxbatons? Always together, in Quidditch, detention, classes and parties. That's us. I don't want a fancy tournament in a foreign country to ruin it. Come to your senses. At least tell _us_, your nearest friends. We'd never leak this to anyone."

Hesitating, you answer what you can at the moment, "Thanks. I'll think about it, alright?"

She nudges your shoulder again, "Don't give me that. This is huge. You must be _dying_ to tell someone."

You lower your head, closing your eyes and trying to hide the twitching smile testing your lips.

"Alright, I know what will convince you," she adds with a sly smile. "I'm going to make you curious too. Maybe _I_ have some news to share, so you better not keep me waiting for long. I won't tell mine until after you share yours."

An easy chuckle finally breaks free and you nudge her shoulder back. How can anyone go long without friends? "You win, Alix. I'll tell you. Just not now, okay?"

"Okay. I'll hold you to that. Now let's go. I'm starving and I have to talk to Reva," she picks up speed and you follow her to the Entrance Hall.

Alix soon hurries away. You slow down, looking around, and notice in amusement a couple of girls in a corner, in the middle of another 'supervision' session, all by themselves. They're standing quite close to each other and whispering so their voices are not overheard.

Despite their body language being a lot more relaxed now than it was at the Potions classroom, from the wild gestures and faces, you can tell their debate is still going strong.

There are many other students scattered in the hall, divided in small groups. The rest of your friends are nearer the Great Hall, in a strategic place where they can keep an eye out for the start of the meal and still not miss the Yvonne-Cora showdown. Alix is already a part of the giggling gang, blending easily into their conversation.

No doubt, you'll be the target of lots of questions and perhaps even jokes on the failed potion and what Professor Snape had to say. You shake your head.

Feeling too tired to face this now, you ignore the eyes that follow you and make a beeline for the doors.

The familiar cold greets you as soon as you're out on the courtyard. The snow that has taken over the grounds didn't melt during the afternoon, probably well preserved by the low temperatures. You watch for a while as the veil of darkness slowly unfolds before your eyes, only held back by the weak torches burning at either side of the doors.

A few steps to the right take you to the covered walkway that marks out the rectangular courtyard. You wander in the shadows, distractedly registering the weak clicking of your heels on the stone floor.

The lone indication of the earlier storm is the heavily clouded sky, hiding away the moon and most of the stars. All in all, it is a beautiful and calm night.

You think about the Veela, that must've left the warmth of their homes some time ago to keep their appointment. Their party is now probably meandering through the woods, cutting their way through the snow as fast as they can.

In less than an hour they'll be here. And this time you'll be allowed to meet them properly. Perhaps there'll be a chance to talk, to learn more about them and their life at the village in the Forbidden Forest. You might have the chance to find the answers that you need for all the questions of late that have kept you guessing.

One of the doors opens again, but you stay silent and don't give yourself away.

"I know you're there," Hermione's soft call brings a small smile to your lips. "What are you doing?"

"'Ello, 'Ermione. I was checking ze weather for ze night," you reply and listen as she treads carefully in the dark, chasing the source of your voice.

A bit of light springs from the tip of your wand too so she can find you faster. The smile in that beautiful face is very welcome right now. With an inner sense of glee, you notice that it turns into a wide grin as she closes the last stretch to you.

And she doesn't halt until you're pressed together in a tight embrace and you feel the cold tip of her nose gliding up and down your neck. It's all so spontaneous and carefree that you end up chuckling together.

"Someone is 'appy tonight," you tease, extinguishing the light from your wand.

"Oh, I am," she agrees. "Fresh snow is so pretty that I could stay hours watching these landscapes. It's one of my favorite things. I've wanted to get you all alone out here since morning. You know that. And now it finally happened."

"Zis really was a busy day," you comment, hiding away the traces of weariness in your voice.

Hermione pulls away just enough to look at you, hands resting on the curves of your waist. It's darker now and you have to pay extra attention to read each other's emotions as they flutter across your features.

Her calm stare clings to yours and you marvel at her ability to make you relax in such a simple way. After such a long and dreadful afternoon, your unsteady hand rises to stroke her cheek lightly, as if you could hardly believe she is really here, so present and so close. Caught up in the precious sensations at your fingertips, your voice is but a heartfelt whisper, "You are, as zey say, a sight for sore eyes."

The seriousness of your words and tone has the brunette temporarily speechless, although she was eager to speak only a moment ago. Instead, she follows your eyes and simply enjoys the caress, until a chilly breeze sweeps by and your hand moves from her face to help keep her tresses in place. A weak shiver runs loose through your body and you try not to give it importance.

"And _you_," she finally murmurs, covering your fingers with what feels like a very warm hand, "are the freezing one now, Fleur."

In a confident way, she pulls out her wand again and performs a warming charm that encases you both in a steady protection. Curious eyes follow the careful motions and you listen quietly as she whispers the incantation.

She frowns briefly at your reaction, "Why the surprise? You do it all the time."

"Because you learned it in one day and by yourself," you state, impressed. "Zat particular charm is NEWT-level, 'Ermione. Seventh-year NEWT standard. When did you find ze time to look it up?"

She bites her lip and you blame the darkness for not being able to see the cute blush that must be crawling over her cheeks. "I picked the book in the library before meeting you this morning. You were busy with your letter, so I did a quick search on the shelves. After lunch I read and practiced whenever I could."

Your insides swell in pride at her accomplishment, "Ze spell worked as expected. Well done, ma belle. You do not cease to amaze me."

"Thank you, but it wasn't that hard. I had you to show me the wand movement many times yesterday." She pauses to return her wand to a pocket somewhere inside her robes. Deliberately, the brunette fastens her arms around you again and rubs your back a few times, "Fast to learn and handy, a great combination. And now I get my turn to warm you up."

You nod, smiling, "Always ze thoughtful one. I appreciate it very much."

"You're welcome," she replies softly, her stare still roaming over you, keen on observing your expression. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I have to say, you're looking quite..." she stops, hesitanting, "er... terrible. How did it go with Snape?"

And there it is, clear as day, that same concern as before. Her brows are furrowed and you can see, even through the darkness, those dark eyes lined with sadness. Her sincere apprehension makes you sigh. It's in the little things that she shows she cares.

Closing your eyes, you slowly lower your head and lean forward, marking the way as you go with a soft trail of kisses. From her forehead, to the tip of her nose, and finally a long taste of her lips. After such a day, it feels right to make this last, to spend what little scraps of time you have left to be in her company and make sure she knows how much you've missed her.

But it's still too short, and ends much too soon.

You wonder if you'll ever have enough of her. Maybe not. Probably not. Even if you had hours to spend together, something tells you it would still leave you wishing it didn't have to stop.

"It could 'ave been better," you start to answer truthfully when you straighten up and can speak again.

She cuts you off, surprising you with a demand for more. Her hands reach up for your cheeks and carefully bring your face down again. As soon as you're close enough, her lips claim your full attention, driving any types of potions or professors completely out of your mind.

There's a new sweet urgency in those lips, in the way she makes them join yours, stoking a burning trail deep inside you. It takes you too long to realize that while you're still trying to recover from the stunning effect of the bold approach, her eager kiss is quickly turning your body into a dysfunctional mush.

Before your control crumbles, you hold her waist and gently move towards an arched window, until her back is safely shored there. As your hands slide forward over the stony sill at her sides for support, you slowly tilt ahead and your bodies make contact, dismissing any distance in between.

She inhales sharply and pulls you even closer, into a deep kiss. You half-sigh, half-moan at the first signs that the lightheadedness is settling in, but you redouble your clutch on the stones under your fingers and try to fight it off a bit longer.

And then she's the one to pull back, her breathing hard and uneven. You're not doing any better yourself. After a few teasing nibbles on your lower lip, a last brush of lips follows and she leans away.

Well, perhaps you were being one-sided earlier. It looks like she thought she wasn't having enough of you, either. This alone makes you smile.

"Goodness, your hands, lips... _All_ of you..." she says weakly, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. Her hands still hold your face, and her eyes finally open again to allow dark orbs to study you. "I miss seeing the color of your eyes, Fleur. Do you even know how irresistible you are to me? How you make me feel?"

"Non, but if ze effects for you are anywhere near what zey are for me..." you reply, leaving it open to her interpretation.

She chuckles, shaking her head a little, "We're in trouble, aren't we?"

You grin in silence, melting into it all, until her hands move further to your hair and now they're... covering your ears?

It's something so random that you manage to turn your brain back on and ask in amusement, "'Ermione?"

The brunette kisses your cheek, laughing against your skin. She seems still reluctant at letting go of you, "I thought they'd be really cold. Don't you know that the ears suffer a lot during winter? It's okay. I'm only trying to keep you warm."

You nod and she slowly lets her hands move down, around your neck. Moistening your lips, you notice there's something else new. "Cherries..." Tilting your head, you look at her, "Lip gloss?"

"Mm-hmm. It's from my Mum. She makes this long list of things that I have to watch out for when I'm at school. It goes from silly stuff to some really creative ones. And it gets longer every year. Since we're in the middle of winter, chapped lips is right at the top." She licks her lips slowly, "You too... Peppermint. You must really like peppermint."

"Oui, I do," you confirm, smiling. "It is my favorite flavor in candy."

Another cold wind rushes through the window and you step back. In moments, your wands are out, reinforcing the warming charms. When you're done, she resumes the original conversation, "I interrupted you before. Sorry about that. Er... though I'm not really sorry, no." She frowns, tripping over her words, "I mean, it wasn't nice to interrupt you and I'm sorry for doing that, but I'm not taking back that kiss. Do you-"

"'Ermione," you cut in softly with a smile, saving her from any more explaining, "I did understand you well enough."

"Er… You were saying something about Snape, wasn't it?" she smiles and hurries to make the conversation skip forward.

You nod and offer her a hand, "Walk wiz me a little?"

Her hand finds yours and she seems pleased that it doesn't feel cold anymore. Fingers carefully lock together as you choose words to share the outcome of your afternoon. But there really isn't a way to embellish this, "I was distracted and ze potion was ruined."

"How bad was it?" she asks curiously.

"A total loss. Cauldron, table, ingredients, tools, time. Probably 'is patience too. My partner and I will 'ave to do it again tomorrow night," you whisper.

Her eyebrows jump up, then, "He gave you detention?"

You shake your head and explain better, "I do not zink it is supposed to be detention. Zat was a zree-stage potion. We need to prepare ze first part now to do ze uzzer stages at future classes."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Come here, you," she says, leaning on your shoulder and reaching around for a quick hug. "I can't make it right, but I can cheer you up a little." And with that, a warm kiss scorches your neck and another shiver runs down your spine, though it has nothing to do with temperature this time.

"Oui, you do zat a lot. More zan you know," you reply, pecking her head as she lets you go and continues with the stroll.

"Those pheromones are really something," she says breathily, rubbing her forehead. You look at her, still trying to shake off the aftereffects of coming closer to you.

A little later, her voice steadies some, "Too bad he didn't tell you to do it tomorrow afternoon. You could work in my class."

"Sit wiz you in class? 'Ermione, you do understand zat Professor Snape is not going to forgive me a second time if I destroy ze potion again, non?" you tease, chuckling.

She pouts in such an exaggerated way that you could tell a mile away she was doing it in jest, "Are you suggesting I'm a bad influence for you?"

"Non," you counter without a flinch, "I am saying wizout a doubt zat I would be even more distracted zan today if we shared ze same classroom, ma belle."

"Is that so?" she outright laughs.

"Oui. And I zink you know zi-" The ring of the bell silences you at once. Sighing, you both turn in the direction of the doors and make your way back to the castle. "I 'ad to tell you about ze study group. We will stay in ze carriage to study zis Saturday, in ze afternoon. Do you 'ave any engagements wiz your friends?"

"Nothing planned, no. It isn't a Hogsmeade weekend and the boys have a lot of homework piling up," she says, rolling her eyes. "I guess the most Harry and Ron'll want to do is knock on Hagrid's door to see if he is doing better."

You nod, "Zen we can meet to talk before we go to ze willow."

"Great. And spend Sunday together?" she asks with a smile.

"Oui, zat too. But I need some time in ze library, at least in ze morning. A last minute 'omework came up," you continue, thinking about your Potions essay. "It was good to talk to you now, before dinner. I will 'ave to leave early during ze meal."

"I know. That's why I dodged my friends to find you," she shrugs and continues playfully. "You have something top secret to do with Hagrid tonight."

You lift an eyebrow at that, "Oui, I do. I apologize for not telling you more."

"It's alright. Someday I'll hear about it. I wish whatever it is can make a difference, Fleur. Harry is so upset with his absence," her voice sounds anxious and a little sad.

You sigh, hoping it does help somehow.

"But promise me you'll go early to bed, okay? You need to rest," she completes in a firmer tone.

"Zat is a promise I cannot make, since it is not up to me. But I 'ope it will not take too long. I 'ave not craved my pillow zis much in a while," you tell her.

"That's good enough for me. At least I know you want to go to sleep," she says, squeezing your hand a little.

"Of course," you reply. When you reach the doors you can't hold back a quick yawn, "Time for good-bye, hmm?"

"I think so," she whispers, turning your way for a short kiss. "Good night, Fleur."

You hug her close and kiss her temple, "Good night, ma belle."

She opens the doors and walks away, looking for any sign of her friends. You notice all of yours are missing. Not even Cora or Yvonne remained in the Entrance Hall. In slow paces, you go into the Great Hall and take a place at the Ravenclaw table, only this time not with your friends, but at the farther end, right by the doors.

You greet the students around you and explain you're not feeling well, so exceptionally you'll sit with them for the meal and leave early. They nod and try to behave casually, while you keep to yourself.

True to your word, you choose a few samples of food that look like they'll give you enough sustenance and satisfy your appetite until you feel confident your mission is accomplished.

Checking the time, there's little over half an hour left. Excusing yourself, you stand slowly and leave without a fuss.

Time to get ready.

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

P.S.1: Congratulations if you got this far without dozing off or giving up. Your will is a force of nature and I bow to you.

(by the way, this version is not even that bad... you should see the original one, which I almost posted a week ago... put me to sleep three nights in a row before I got to the part where the potion spun out of control... and I was in the middle of an insomnia streak, how about that?) o.O

P.S.2: Now there are names, looks, personalities and a little background history to some of Fleur's friends. It was weird to keep calling them 'friends' and never really show their interactions, but getting Fleur and Hermione into a certain level of closeness was planned out as the first priority. And the idea was to get them there without rushing it too much.

P.S.3: You might have noticed that the speed of the timeline has slowed down throughout the story as the couple started to share time together. Unless something changes radically in chapters to come, I'd say this is the slowest it will get in all of the story (chapters 7, 8 & 9 - three chapters to complete a full day) because the events taking place in these chapters will affect everything from now on. So next chapter is the last overly slow, and then things will flow a bit faster again.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: My poor updating ability should be enough of a hint on how life's going. Sorry about that. On a good note, Radio will be over this week. I can't wait to have that one in the past. I hope this means some improvement.

I want to thank everyone that sent suggestions of fics to read. I'd mentioned only a few T-rated FleurMione suggestions in the last chapter, all with few chapters. I still don't have the time to read anything long. Actually, hardly anything at all.

Now, about this chapter... Fleur is portrayed with very light blonde hair (the books seem to describe it as lighter than in the films), but still not an absolute white color. The difference has a meaning here.

And it's another long one.

Thank you for sharing your opinions and ideas. :D

* * *

><p>Chapter 9.<p>

Sneaking out the Entrance Hall, Mr. Filch and his cat are the only witnesses to your careful departure. The caretaker has always shown less interest in investigating the foreign students, so it comes as no surprise that a curt nod is enough to stave off any questions from the man, though his distrustful eyes follow you all the way to the doors.

Going past them, you rush into the quiet night awaiting outside. Quick strides take you across the courtyard and you stop only once to look back at the castle. Rows of windows glint weakly against the darkness, highlighting the imposing school from within. It's quite a sight. As you amble away, this feels like your temporary farewell to the affairs of wizards.

You notice the clouds have spread out and covered all the sky while you were dining. Not a single star can be seen overhead now, and before you lose sight of the last traces of light coming from the castle, the tip of your wand is already glowing ahead of you.

A long sequence of silent spells gradually removes the snow from the familiar path to the Beauxbatons carriage. You're particularly careful to watch where you step, for the uneven ground under your feet is full of surprises at your current speed. Somehow you manage to make it, only skidding ungracefully a couple of times, but without any serious consequences. When you get close enough to see your destination in the distance, your eyes check further for Hagrid's cabin.

The door and windows are closed, as they have remained all week, but there are lit torches at the entrance and also ground torches illuminating a trail from near the edge of the forest to his front door. Hagrid probably knows where to expect the visitors to arrive from the woods.

You smile at the sight. It seems he took your message seriously and is prepared for company.

A little later, you reach the carriage and undo the wards to go inside. Everyone else is still at the castle, so the only source of sound and warmth is the soft crackling stack of embers burning at the fireplace of the central hall. You don't waste time looking around and hurry to lock yourself in your room.

Stepping out of your shoes, you remember to first take care of a few important things that you'll have to go through when there's time. Your hand slips into the bag and retrieves those precious items, setting the letter to Gabrielle and the flask of corrosive potion on the desk, and then Hermione's scarf on your bed, by the pillows.

You enjoy a sip of water and a series of deep breaths as your heartbeat returns to normal. With the necessary spells, your trunk is lying open in the middle of the room and two rows of hidden compartments are now visible. You tap only the ones that contain clothing and disclose their contents.

Time to sit down and check your options. A long sigh escapes from you as your stare wanders, regarding the alternatives. This, searching through your Veela belongings, is something you thought you wouldn't be doing until you were back in France.

'Focus, Fleur.'

Okay, what is the appropriate dress code for a meeting like this?

Ceremonial robes? Warrior garb? You take some time considering those. Hmmm... no. You can't be sure the occasion calls for so much. They're ostentatious, quite over the top and you don't want to come off as arrogant by overdressing. Besides, you'd be giving away bits of information about yourself that you want to hold on to, at least for the time being. Not to mention that if any of your Beauxbatons friends sees you like that, you won't hear the end of it for the rest of the term.

Next. Your stare shifts between your Sentinel and Healer suits... Running a quick list of pros and cons in your mind, once again you decide maybe these aren't the best options. Still rather formal, there's plenty of indication of your ranks and the look would be highly unusual for Hogwarts.

You shake your head and remove your cap, setting it on your bed. Perhaps you're overthinking things and you could show up dressed in the school uniform. Frowning, you give this some further thought. It wouldn't hurt to blend well into the atmosphere of Hogwarts as a witch and a student, right?

Finally, you ruffle your hair and settle against it. You went to the village dressed as a student, but in your capacity as a Veela. That's why they believed you in the first place. And that's how you should present yourself now, when you're the one to wait on their visit.

Next option. Scouting uniform, then? Hmm, not bad. Better than the rest. Simple, humble enough and practical, a regular choice of wear for any caste, in any village, and only a little out of the ordinary for wizardkind standards.

Right. With a set mind, you pick the forest green version of the outfit, arrange it on your bed, close your trunk and dash to the bathroom.

It takes a fleeting glance at your bed and, while you shower, your mutinous brain starts once again to conjure images of a steaming mug of hot chocolate to go with that duvet. With whipped cream on top and sprinkles of vanilla and cinnamon essence. And a couple of cookies. Hmm...

You shake your head, smiling, and move those thoughts to another corner of your brain. Only a bit more left to do.

There's now little time to get dry, tidy your hair in a ponytail, dress, grab your wand and leave. You tuck your gloves in your belt and fasten the cloak over your shoulders on your brisk way to Hagrid's cabin. To your concern, there's one last minute until the time is up.

Reaching Hagrid's door, you use your wand again to get rid of the snow, sludge and rocks, producing a large clearing all around the warm trail of torches and up to the forest. For good measure, you conjure small sets of bluebell flames around the new clearing, bringing out more warmth and lighting.

A soft wind plays with the flames, making shadows shift and the cloak snake wildly against your boots. A column of smoke is billowing from the chimney and a soft smell of spices and vegetables makes you wonder what the Gamekeeper is cooking. Probably, a stew to offer the visitors. After such a long journey, they are bound to appreciate a conversation over a hot and tasty plate of food.

Feeling still tired and with nothing else to do, you put your gloves on and start to pace up and down slowly, calming down your adrenaline levels and waiting for the visitors. By now, they're fifteen minutes late and you know how Veela are punctual in their appointments. Perhaps there were difficulties along their way, after today's heavy blizzard.

Both excitement and apprehension take turns battling inside you. Will their visit go smoothly? Can Hagrid benefit from their presence? Did you do the right thing when you took action that led to this?

At last, the distant sound of snow being crushed in a steady rhythm alerts you to their impending arrival. You stand still, facing the spot closest to the source of the noise, watching for any signs of the visitors. A little later, three unicorns of the purest white, more so than the color of the snow beneath their golden hooves, come trotting gallantly in tandem from between the trees.

Their posture is impeccable, long manes and tails whipping at will, and their low snorts spread a hazy mist in front of them. These are fantastic creatures, magnificent in their raw strength and natural beauty.

And then you look up to watch the Veela who are on their backs, riding expertly without saddles or bridles.

You notice that they're almost completely concealed from view, except for fractions of their striking faces. All are wearing heavy black cloaks that reach down to their shoes and barely flutter in the wind. The lowered hoods and gloves must have helped to keep them protected from the cold during the long ride.

The Veela who arrived last is a little away from the others, making an attempt to calm down her younger and most restless unicorn, that took to trying to rear on its hind legs. She carries a longbow and curiously glances at the profile of the castle whenever she has the chance. The one in the middle is cradling a small bundle in one arm that you can't discern well. And the leader wields the wooden staff of an Elder.

After giving them some time to take in their surroundings, you walk in their direction and stop to bow at the place where you start to sense the frontier of their charms. When you straighten up again, you know they have sensed you as well, and three sets of eyes are now trained on you.

You address the small group in a clear voice, "Good evening. It is an 'onor to welcome you to 'Ogwarts. I am ze student zat found your village a few days ago."

"Fleur Delacour," the leader whispers softly.

"Oui. To assist in your visit," you add, nodding.

A few careful steps later, you are standing beside the Elder with a raised hand, offering to help her down from the steed, when you notice the Veela are all firmly staring at something behind you. The Sentinel in particular has narrowed her eyes and you can see she's assessing for danger.

Turning around, your stomach quickly crunches into a tight knot. The Gryffindor trio is knocking on Hagrid's door.

You sigh loudly and shake your head, "Please excuse me. I will fix zis." And there goes your chance to find some time alone with the Veela to ask the number of things plaguing your mind.

In large strides, you return to Hagrid's home and both boys are making a ruckus, knocking and calling Hagrid to open the door. Hermione is standing behind them, with a very annoyed look on her face and arms crossed in front of her.

"'Ello. What are you doing 'ere?" you ask loudly enough to be heard over the noise and get their attention.

They silence down and glance at you, once again stunned by your outfit.

Frowning at them, but mostly at Hermione, you ask with a hint of frustration, "I 'ad asked you not to zink about zis, non?"

"I tried to tell them not to leave the castle, Fleur." She gives the boys a hard look, "But _no_, they wouldn't listen to me."

You finally focus on them, "I do not understand. What did you expect, coming 'ere now?"

"Hagrid's our friend, too. We'd like to see him," Ronald says defensively, standing behind Harry.

"Stop that, Mione," Harry interjects, not flinching under his friend's glare. "He's been locked up all week, Fleur, because of that Skeeter _cow_. We want him back!"

You understand his concern, and his choice of words gives away his discontentment with this entire situation, "It is a delicate issue, Mr. Potter-"

"Harry," the boy interrupts you awkwardly, "erm, please, call me Harry, Fleur. Okay?"

Nodding, you start over, though your accent gets in the way of saying it as he does, "Of course. Je suis désolée. As I was saying, 'Arry, perhaps 'e is not ready to face any of us, yet." Tilting your head towards the group of visitors, you continue in a more hopeful tone, "I zink zey will be more successful to help 'im zrough zis. But we all need to step aside so zey can approach ze cabin. Perhaps you should return to ze castle?"

Harry chances a look in the direction you showed and shakes his head vigorously, "We are staying."

Hermione observes the unusual group and can't resist making her own question, "Are they... Veela?"

Craning his neck in all directions around you to try to get a glimpse at them, Ronald blurts at once, "We have Veela here?"

"Oui. Zey 'ave known 'Agrid for a long time," you say. "Ze Skeeter article was very unfair to 'im. Zeir presence tonight is a token of zeir friendship. Veela 'ardly leave ze forest. Zis is a special exception for 'im."

Ron speaks dreamily, "They must be so beautiful. Blimey, I don't want to leave."

"Zey are pure-Veela, hmm... Ronald," you testily try out the boy's first name as well and he doesn't seem to mind. "You would not be yourself under ze effects of zeir charms. If you are intent on staying and I cannot convince to ze contrary, we should at least make room for zem to reach 'is door. Zis is for your well-being," you reply in no uncertain terms, waving your hand to a side in a silent request that they follow your directions.

Harry complies and pulls Ronald away with him. As Hermione is about to go after them, you hold her shoulder softly and whisper for her ears alone, "Please, stay behind me at all times. Do not go near zem by yourself."

It's obvious that the girl doesn't have a clue of your reasons for saying that, but she nods, and then hurries to catch up with her friends. At a slower rate, you stroll towards them, making sure they are at a safe distance from the trail of torches before you take your place, standing at their right and slightly ahead of them.

Your eyes find the Veela again. They have dismounted and are talking quietly among themselves as they settle the unicorns close to the bordering trees. The steeds are right in your sight line, concealing the Veela, but from the little there's to see, you can guess they are removing their cloaks and rearranging their accessories, getting ready for the meeting.

When they finally step around the unicorns and you have the chance to look at them, you think it's a terrific thing that you're so completely frozen on the spot that your jaw doesn't hang open. Or simply unhinges and falls off.

Long velvety formal robes have been revealed, which you know are matched to the same color, but in a darker shade, to the eyes of each Veela - that means blue, purple and green in their case. A fine goldwork all along the lower hem of the robes, around their necks and at the edge of the long sleeves states their standing and caste in their respective Clans. A more elaborate silver embroidery on the right side of their chests tells of their personal accomplishments.

This is not just any friendly visiting party. It's a Consular Triad, as you recall from the folktales that your grandmother used to tell when you were a child. Tales of old about heroic quests turned legends, from a time when the kingdoms of the magical races carefully swore their alliances, knitted in honor, blood and magic.

They are offering Hagrid the same distinguished treatment reserved over the centuries for monarchs and powerful allies. This is something your grandmother will absolutely want to hear about. You wonder if the Gamekeeper is fully aware of how highly they think of him.

As the visitors advance in your direction to go to the cabin, they come into view under the feeble lighting and you can finally watch them thoroughly.

It's a formidable display of beauty, elegance and poise. They look inhumanly sublime, ethereal, almost unreal. Every move is so effortless, they appear to glide over the ground. Silky hair strands softly flap behind them, caught in an undetectable breeze that must be blowing only for their sake. An inspired artist in a perfectionist streak must've been the one to sculpt their features. And they don such a candid expression of serenity that you find it difficult to believe anyone from a different race could ever match.

Without a doubt, mesmerizing.

In respect to tradition, the Triad comprises a Seeress, a Healer and a Sentinel.

The Elder is also the Seeress, still taking the lead of the group. Her robes are of a dark blue, in a stark contrast to the light tint of her eyes, her fair skin and the wheat-golden color of her very long hair. There are a few shallow creases around her pale pink lips, the only giveaway of her actual age, which you'd estimate somewhere around early sixties. The staff is taller than she is, thoroughly polished and carved in an elaborate pattern, probably related to her Clan.

This Veela is the embodiment of humility, a regular feature within her caste and also a highly desirable trait in her position as a ruler. She must lead not by the force of orders or harsh threats, but by sheer respect earned in the eyes of her peers. And she seems to wears well the double burden of authority and foresight. Her kind expression and piercing stare, ever so present in the Seeresses you know, probably come from years of patiently unraveling secrets in the future, of making careful decisions that affect the lives of many.

The Healer receives your attention next. She took the place at the Elder's right, glancing at her often, and her height is a bit shorter than the others'. A unique sway marks the way she walks and there's a very exotic quality about this one. Her skin has a light olive tone, and the details of purple eyes, wine-red lips and black hair arranged in a waterfall braid make for an enticing combination. From what you can guess, she seems to be in her mid-thirties.

The narrow silver belt around her waist holds a very small knife, commonly used to harvest herbs, and small pouches to store a variety of potions. The ones she brought tonight were probably chosen with Hagrid in mind. According to the way their meeting goes, she'll determine the need to leave him some of them. In her left arm you can now see the small unwrapped bundle, a gift to the Gamekeeper of evergreen seedlings of a rare hybrid linden tree, ready to be transplanted to fertile soil.

To their left follows the Sentinel. This is the one that spikes your curiosity the most. Her hair is a pure platinum-white, with rare sprinkles of soft gold here and there that you suspect is a phantom reflection from the torches. Unusually, it's... well, short. From what you can see, just down to the level of her nape. The haircut is flattering, with loose strands reaching around her ears and careful layers to give it volume and shape, framing well her features.

And you can't bring yourself to stop looking for a while. This is the first time you've seen a Veela with short hair. No, actually, you've never even heard of Veela with short hair. It must be rarer than finding a Troll with the ability to recite poetry.

Her skin is very pale and all the light colors of her hair and complexion make a perfect background to highlight cherry-red lips, the rosy tint over her cheekbones and deep green eyes. Through the bangs covering her forehead, you catch a glimpse of honey-colored eyebrows. You don't even know if it's possible, since these are all Veela, but her features seem a little more refined than the others', designed to a precision that could defy an observant eye to find any imperfections.

A long huntress' knife is strapped to her lean waist, a quiver with arrows hangs at her back and her longbow is securely held in her left hand. She's too young to be considered for a Triad, probably barely of age, by Veela standards. That alone should vouch for her abilities, though you know there's more to it.

When you start to sense their charms again, you brace yourself and build your own barrier once more, only this time spreading its invisible reach at a larger range, to cover the position of the students. If they stay in constant clash, you reason there's a chance that the Gryffindors will be spared.

Your breathing picks up as soon as they start to interact. With every step they walk closer now, you can feel a new degree of tension as the charms collide and engage in their silent battle. You're not at the best of days to be going through this, but it somehow feels easier than at your trip to the village, even with the added challenge of protecting three humans, too. It makes you wonder how the trio at your side is coping.

Chancing a quick glance at them, you almost smile at their awestruck states, each letting it show in their own way. Ronald is purple and gaping, Harry is clearly unable to blink, and Hermione's eyes are bulging out a little. The girl is probably using all of her will control to keep her gaze unlocked, taking in a bit of each of the Veela before looking at the other.

You clear your throat and the brunette's glance strays to you, her curiosity taking over. You give her a small smile and she manages to smile back. Good, so her mind is in working condition. She's only surprised, not affected. The blockade is working as necessary.

To distract yourself from the charms, you go back to surveying the Veela instead. It might help you understand them better.

The Elder leans heavily on her staff at times, which she grips with obvious strength, and it oddly makes you wonder about a pain in her knee or hip. You watch in admiration as she still pulls off the gliding-instead-of-walking performance, even though it should be a cumbersome task. Whatever happened, it must be an old wound, since she doesn't request assistance and the others don't seem surprised by it.

The Healer has an air of apparent aloofness, but through her practiced mask transpires a certain uneasiness at walking out of the woods. You can see it in the twitch of her fingers every time her right hand swings close to her knife, and it isn't hard to guess that she's on heavy alert.

And then, there's the Sentinel. This one should be the most anxious of the group, but she looks the exact opposite, completely in her element. Her eyes casually roam, from the castle to the cabin, then to the edge of the forest, the lake, the Beauxbaton carriage, and a full cycle again. Any small noise and they zoom away to the new disturbance, and then return to the previous routine. Her attitude says it all. This one is ready to react swiftly at the predictable. You bet she can be quite creative in the face of the unpredictable, too.

A short-lived sprinkle of light dances over the Sentinel's knife, drawing your attention. Only it doesn't look like a knife at this range, but rather a short sword. The soft lighting is enough for you to see well the goblin-made hilt, finding a pattern of symbols there that you'd recognize in your sleep.

While you're still looking, the Sentinel glances in the direction of your group for the first time. Your stares meet and she smiles warmly, nodding once in recognition. If you ever doubted it before, now you're convinced this is the owner of the soft voice back at that encounter by the village. The one and the same with the fancy agarwood scent that you trailed up in the trees yesterday.

You take a deep breath, release it slowly and keep an impassive face.

In a surprising move, the Veela take a detour from the torches leading to the cabin and veer to your assembly. A snap of the Elder's fingers melts the snow in front of them, carving a steady path to where you are. They barely notice the younger students when they come to a stop, and their attention wraps around you, the hostess to this small gathering.

Without further delay, you slowly bring your right knee down to the ground and incline your head, "Forgive me for not recognizing ze Triad before. I could not see your robes under ze travel cloaks."

"Rise, child," the Elder speaks in a soft voice, her mere presence radiating authority. "It does not suit you to kneel before your equals."

"Merci," you reply quietly and stand up, keeping your head low.

"Fleur Isabelle Delacour, we thank you for waiting on us. Allow me to introduce Hestia Petros, of the Elatia Clan, our finest Healer," she continues, starting the introductions and waving her hand at the Veela at her right.

You unglove your right hand and keep it open, palm upturned, offering it to the Veela. Hestia hands the gift she's carrying to the Sentinel. Her features light up briefly in a smile that could rival the beauty of a sunset and her intense stare studies you for a few moments. Ronald makes a weird sound, a mixture of gurgling and gasping, but no one takes notice. Hestia then bows, removes her own glove and brings her hand to hover above yours, palm facing down.

You let the tingling surge of your magic gather and collect in the center of your hand, just as she does the same. A fresh smell of lavender fills the air and her magic seems to reach out in small tendrils that flick over your skin, precise and methodical in its probing. Shortly, she steps back, bows again, gloves her hand and collects her precious cargo from the Sentinel.

"This is Katalin Virág, of the Szárny Clan, our highest ranking Warrior," the Elder proceeds with a hint of pride.

A frown flickers on your brows. 'She was called a Warrior, not a Sentinel? Not even a Huntress? Why in such a peac-'

"Fleur, we meet again," the Warrior chants in a whispery soft voice, too outlandishly charming to belong to a human being. You feel a harder pressure against your charms. "How extraordinary. You're not the same as when we first met."

Something unusual must have shown on your face, for her lips curve into a smug smirk that interrupts your thoughts. It makes your eyes narrow considerably. She treads closer and you're overwhelmed with the intense scent of agarwood. The Warrior takes the time to appreciate your scent as well. She carefully keeps the longbow in her left hand, almost hugging it to her side.

With your right hands stretching near, you notice a certain stiffness in her wrist and a small purple shape between her thumb and index finger. Her magic feels thick and strong, reaching out to drown your hand in warmth. It lasts longer than Hestia's exchange, but then she also retracts her hand and returns to her place.

"And I am Anca Sarac, of the Calenica Clan, Seeress and Elder of the Eilean Village at the Forbidden Forest," the older Veela claims, bowing before approaching you.

Her hand rises above yours and you realize how soothing and light her magic feels. You inhale softly, recognizing the essence of jasmine as that of her pheromones.

Unexpectedly, while her eyes give you a deep and searching look, boring their way through to your very soul, her hand drops slowly and makes contact, gripping your palm. You barely have time to gasp in surprise when a powerful wave of magic invades your hand, reaching deep to spread up your arm and into the rest of you. This is the first time you feel the prickling sensation take over your entire body and you can't fight back or control it.

A series of images flutter in your mind's eye, mixing with erratic flashes of your surroundings. It's all too fast for you to understand. Faces, figures and landscapes distort into unrecognizable shapes and colors, illogical swirls mixed with the occasional soft humming of voices in the background, sometimes meaningless sounds, and then loud screams and growls that make your bones chill.

You totter back a little, but she doesn't let go. The sensation intensifies.

Even though you're wide awake and your eyes are open, what you see and sense now is only what is going on in your mind. Vaguely, you realize you're losing connection with reality. The skin against your hand is the only perception you trust to be real.

And then, apparently as fast as it all started, your mind is still and silent again. The episode ended, probably lasting only a few seconds to the others, but what seemed to be very long minutes for you.

You blink a few times to focus your eyes and steady yourself, only to realize your forehead is damp from cold sweat and your knees are half-bent, not supporting your full weight.

A pressure by your waist makes you notice that Hermione is the only reason you're still standing up. Katalin has moved very close to you, but the brunette caught you first, it seems. One of the girl's arms is wrapped around you and she's holding your left arm over her shoulder.

Blushing, you straighten up at once and nod at the brunette, who gives an uncertain glance in Anca's direction. The girl must have felt reassured in some way, for she starts to release you and takes a few steps back, standing once again between her friends. Katalin still looks at you with obvious concern, but ends up retreating as well.

You take deep breaths and fight down the strong residual nausea, wondering if you'll ever allow a Seeress to touch you in the future. The last bouts of tingling slowly die out in your right hand while you glove it, closing the fist in the hopes it'll return to normal again soon.

You catch a glimpse of Anca's curious stare at Hermione and are relieved to notice the girl reacting with ease, standing upright and relaxed. It lasts a few seconds, until the Elder turns her attention to you once more and smiles in that calm, detached and maddeningly enigmatic way of the Seeresses. As if nothing unusual had just taken place, and turning your mind upside down and inside out was the most natural thing for her to do. Up to this day, you still wonder if they receive special lessons to learn to look like that.

Sighing, you try to come to terms with the fact that there's no point in making her any questions about what happened. Her secret oath forbids any explanations of the visions. You'll just have to hold on to one more set of questions.

"It is my chance for introductions now," you say, overcoming the unpleasant stirrings inside and testing the use of your voice. "Zese are students at 'Ogwarts - Ronald Weasley, 'Ermione Granger and 'Arry Potter."

Anca raises one of her elegant eyebrows, "Fleur, have you told these students about us?"

You reply softly, "Non. 'Agrid is zeir friend. Zey were 'ere trying to talk to 'im, when I first delivered ze message of your visit. I only said ze right time and place. And now zey came to knock on 'is door again to see if 'e 'ad a change of mind."

"I understand." The Elder nods and finally faces them, offering a warm smile, "Greetings from the woods, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter. Hagrid is a blessed man to earn such devoted friendship. We respect his friends as we respect Hagrid himself."

In an unspoken agreement, the Veela Triad curtsey to the very surprised teenagers, remaining silent afterwards, calmly analyzing them. The Gryffindors are at a loss on what to do, but they eventually bow in response and try to keep straight faces under the scrutiny.

You notice Katalin is looking intently at Ronald, while said redhead can't tear his eyes away from Hestia.

"Ronald Weasley..." The Sentinel rolls the words around her mouth slowly, appraising the stunned boy who gapes in surprise at being addressed by her. "Would you, by any chance, be related to one Charles Weasley, who works at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary?"

In a new deep shade of burgundy, the overwhelmed boy stutters an answer, "H-he-he's my brother."

"That is very interesting, Mr. Weasley. Your brother is an exemplary wizard," she says, grinning at him with sincere amusement. From her expression, it becomes clear it is an exceptional compliment, coming from her. "He knows his dragons. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

By the look on his face, Ronald himself is wondering why there's no steam coming out of his flaming ears.

While everyone's eyes are trained on the nearly fainting boy, the quieter Hestia decides to speak, and she turns to Hermione, "Miss Grandzer, from Gryffindor House?"

Hermione's eyes widen at that and she freezes in shock, not even breathing anymore.

The Veela proceeds in a grave and solemn tone, "Your name is the most known to me among your friends. I believe you are the student that speaks of free houze-elves."

The brunette starts to bite her lip anxiously and you have to strain your eyes to see her weak nod.

"Your ideas have a long reach," the Healer adds with a pleasant lilt, bowing her head respectfully at the girl. There's a fresh tint of admiration in her voice and she smiles cordially, "You would be surprised to know."

The dazzled redhead has his stare glued again on Hestia, and he suddenly sputters, "I've been saying it all along. Haven't I been saying it? Support those poor house-elves."

You give the boy an inquiring look and you can tell Harry is having trouble holding in a smile. Hermione, on the other hand, looks ready to hex him on the spot.

Anca breaks down the tension, her captivating laughter pulling in everyone's attention.

"It looks like we have been given the privilege of meeting a most unique group of students tonight. A trio that we all recognize in one way or the other," she explains. Her stare moves from Ronald to Hermione, and finally stops on the student left for last. "Mr. Potter, I understand you are no stranger in the world of wizards."

The boy seems once again uncomfortable about the whole celebrity-child theme so present in his life.

"To us, however, there was another Potter that took precedence in gaining our attention." With a kind smile, she watches the surge of interest in his face, "I used to follow your father, Mr. Potter, in his adventures through these grounds, many, many years ago."

"You knew my Dad?" he asks with a mix of incredulity and wishful hope, stepping forward to have a better look at the Elder. The other Gryffindor's gapes are priceless.

"Oh, yes," she chuckles in amusement, bending her left leg and adjusting her position to lean her weight on the staff. You don't miss the action or her new posture. It's typical of a bad knee. Anca notices your stare, but doesn't interrupt her explanation to the boy, "I knew James Potter and his friends, too. They were the ones that never realized we were there. At the time, I was in charge of the patrolling team that kept a close watch on Prongs, Padfoot and Moony, as they called themselves."

"The Marauders," Hermione states, exchanging a surprised look with Harry.

Even Ronald decides to contribute. "There was a fourth one, my-" he stops to frown shortly, "I mean, _a_ rat."

"The small one, yes. I remember him. They came out at night to practice. It was harder for him to learn the ways to become an Animagus," the Elder says, nodding slowly. "Prongs and Padfoot learned faster. Their magic was strong. The animals they became were larger, powerful enough to deserve Moony's respect. Once the four boys were ready, the nights of the full moon started with Wormtail controlling the Whomping Willow. Then, the others took over."

Harry asks with more confidence, "Did you always follow them?"

"It was my special assignment, Mr. Potter," she confirms firmly, closing her eyes and sighing. "Two of us tracked them all night long when Moony suffered his transformation. We were there to guarantee protection for the students and the villagers at Hogsmeade. Many near-accidents were avoided under our vigilance. And with all the help he could get, no one was infected with Lycanthropy through Moony."

"Why did you do it?" Hermione queries quietly, as if she was afraid to interrupt the conversation.

Anca gives the curious girl a benign stare. "Werewolves are a particular concern of ours. Even when they are invited into the school as students," she smiles suggestively at Harry and the brunette, "or professors."

"What?" Ronald cuts in, wide-eyed and now gaping, while Hermione uncomfortably shifts her weight from a leg to the other.

With a nervous glance at his friends, Harry tries to put their scrambled thoughts into words, though he doesn't make much sense to you, "Then, last year, you...?"

"Some of us were there that night, Mr. Potter. Not I, unfortunately," she replies in a forlorn tone, glancing down at her leg. "My health now renders me unfit to chase after a werewolf in his prime."

Harry frowns as he seems to reach an unpleasant conclusion, "You could've captured Wormtail."

"Not without showing ourselves. And that, Mr. Potter, is something we were unwilling to do, unless it was a matter of saving one of your lives. Our priority was to keep Moony in check. In due time, it was providential that so many good things happened. Padfoot took action quickly, the..." she pauses, glancing quickly at Hermione, "_other_ Miss Granger called Moony away from your exposed group and, when all seemed lost, Buckbeak protected you before we needed to step in."

"It was a night to be remembered, wouldn't you say?" she asks with a smile, though it looks heartbreakingly sad. "That was when you cast your powerful Patronus, Mr. Potter. Thanks to you, Prongs galloped through these woods once again."

You stopped registering the words in the middle of the long explanation and interject before you miss the chance, already feeling the signs of a major headache in the bloom, "Uzzer Miss Granger?"

Hermione answers in an apologetic tone, "Ermm... It's a long story, Fleur."

"Anuzzer one, zen," you reply with less humor then you intended originally.

The brunette gives you a weird look, until Harry speaks addressing all the Veela, "It was a wrong judgment, suspecting him. We know Professor Lupin. He is a good man."

"Oh, but I agree with your opinion, Mr. Potter. A good boy he was then. And a good man he is now," Anca comments seriously. "Moony would never turn into a dark beast. The heart within would not allow it. Those three friends were inseparable."

"Y-you keep forgetting the fourth Marauder," Ronald stutters once more.

"For good reasons. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Weasley?" The Elder gives the nervous boy a hard stare as her words become heavy, though her voice is even softer, "He was not a true friend. Darkness and ambition thrived in that boy. Wormtail craved the skills of the others. As he grew older, greed for power controlled him completely. His partners paid the price of all his wrong choices. One with his life, the other with his freedom."

Harry nods silently, listening with rapt attention.

"We were very satisfied to learn last year that Padfoot had escaped Azkaban. Sadly, his fugitive status leaves him little chance for comfort among wizards," Anca continues. "We assist him as we can. Every time our scouts detect his presence near Hogwarts, we ease the way for him. Padfoot arrives in pitiful condition, but a few days of safe shelter and fresh food allow him to improve slowly."

The Elder waves her hand at the other Veela, "Katalin and Hestia usually scout together. They are experienced in tracking his moves."

Katalin nods and adds in a smooth voice, "We set up diversions close to Hogsmeade. It gives him more liberty to move around."

"You've been protecting him?" Harry asks with traces of disbelief, though he tries to tone it down not to sound impolite, blushing softly.

Anca's soothing voice reassures the boy, "We trust him. Sirius Black would never betray his friends. He is not the killer that wizards were led to believe." She steps closer to Harry and lays a hand gently on his shoulder. "What else could prove it better than his actions? Is that not the reason why he risks his own safety to return to Hogwarts? He's looking after you, Mr. Potter, his friend's only son."

Without realizing it, your eyebrows slowly but steadily rose to their limits. They're talking about the fugitive Sirius Black. Your brain is reeling, trying to commit the overload of information to memory so you can ask more about it later. Hestia and Katalin are following the conversation without any hints of surprise. At least the Gryffindors look a bit taken aback, though you bet you have it worst.

Probably worrying with the late hour, the Elder stops to glance shortly at Hagrid's door. She then takes a few steps back and nods at Hestia and Katalin, "It is time." Smiling at the students, she adds in a friendly tone, "We shall return soon. Let us hope it will be with good news."

The older Veela slowly whirls to the cabin and Hestia follows suit immediately, accompanying the Elder. Katalin, however, remains where she is.

"Fleur," she says softly as the rustle of her companions' robes indicates their growing distance from your group. You let your stare accompany the wandering Veela before finding Katalin again.

The Sentinel is quietly regarding you and, for whatever reason, she seems oblivious to the trio at your side. Perhaps she's stayed so long in the woods that it is more comfortable for her to talk to Veela than humans. A weighing discomfort amplifies around you, making known that her charms are, indeed, very strong, and you sharpen your concentration to keep your mind in place.

"There really is something different about you," the Veela adds. "So much progress in such short time. I almost can't recognize your charms. And your change has only just begun. You're even protecting your friends from the effects of the daze, aren't you?"

You glance at the other students with a small smile to make sure she notices you do consider important to remember their presence, "Oui. Apparently, it works."

"For now." Distractedly, she also takes a better look at the silent trio, "You are not strong enough to keep this for long. Why don't you make it easy on yourself? Use your wand. A shield charm should do the trick."

You retort at once, keeping an unemotional expression. "Are you testing me, Katalin? My muzzer taught me manners."

Her chiming laughter fills the air. It is a beautiful sound, however galling at the moment. "How did you learn to do it? You don't look old enough for that part of your training."

"No one taught me," you state defensively, facing the inquisitive Sentinel again. "I 'ave done zis on my own since ze age of twelve."

"Twelve. Too young, then," her brows slowly knit together and she tilts her head, watching you. "Rogue problems require quick, creative thinking. Someday, I would like to hear that story. Did it work?"

So she reached the right conclusion. You feel glad that she didn't dig further, "It fit ze occasion."

"Good, very good." Noticing you didn't elaborate, Katalin changes the subject at once, "How is life in the castle?"

"Everything 'as been well, zank you, but I do not live in ze castle. I only attend classes and 'ave meals zere. My sleeping quarters and ze places where I spend most of my spare time are in ze carriage from my school, over zere," you reply, showing her the large structure beyond Hagrid's cabin.

"I was wondering about that. There's something else new in the lake. I don't remember that ship, either," she says, with a sharp look in its direction.

"It belongs to ze delegation of Durmstrang," you explain, glancing at the anchored vessel, bobbing on the dark water. A soft breeze must've picked up speed over the lake, for the black sails are rippling and luffing.

"Ah, yes. The wizarding school in the north, where winter never ends. A place for quiet and solitude, away from human civilization," she replies with a vacant look, taking a deep breath. The pressure on your charms increases considerably and you notice her grip on the longbow growing tighter. In a firmer voice, the Veela adds, "What an interesting year this must be for students at Hogwarts, then. So many new people to meet, so much to learn."

You nod slowly, watching her. Katalin was surprised to see the carriage and the ship. She knows these grounds well, so why wasn't she aware of the most recent events taking place at the castle? Trying to keep your mind focused, you push the conversation in a different direction in the hopes of reeling this puzzling character out of her distracted state. "What about you, Katalin? You are very far from 'ome. What brings you to ze Forbidden Forest?"

"My family visits other villages constantly. I grew up with plenty of traveling, especially to the most isolated ones. The habit became my own. I took a particular liking to the Eilean Villages," she answers in a subdued tone, almost dreamily.

Her answer was evasive enough to avoid the specifics of your question. Perhaps you're on to something. "It must be a long stay zis time, if you were made a part of a local Consular Triad."

"I am currently stationed here, as I have been for the past couple of years. I belong to this village now," she whispers as she closes her eyes and her charms nearly break through yours, agarwood flooding your senses to the limits. This is getting much worse.

"Is everything well zere?" you struggle to redirect her own question, a small tremor shaking your entire being. You frown, pulling yourself together. Has she remained in the woods ever since she decided to live here? Two years in complete isolation?

"This is different. No place can ever compare to home. Mother always said that," her answer sounds almost automatic, her mind far, far away from your surroundings.

The charms are becoming unbearable to withstand. You have to coax her back to reasonable levels. "May I ask for a favor?" The strangled words escape your lips in a whisper.

A few wrinkles on her forehead match the concern in her voice and her unfocused stare quickly sharpens up on you, "Certainly."

"Could you please... contain your charms? I am exceedingly tired to endure zis," you continue with a cracking voice.

"Forgive me. It was an instinctive reaction," she explains, finally putting a stop to the waves crashing against your dwindling safe harbor.

"Instincts?" you ask raggedly, massaging your temples, unable to fully convey the indignation you are feeling at this. "Do you zink I pose a _zreat_ to you?"

"Not that type of reaction, Fleur. It was a way to bring out your pheromones. Sweet almonds," the Warrior argues and inhales deeply, lost in thought. "I haven't sensed anything like them in a long time. Brings back memories."

"Some memories zose must be," you mumble more to yourself than expecting anyone to listen.

"Indeed," she replies with a lazy grin and in a tone that you can't decipher, but makes you regret making that remark to begin with.

She seems so distracted now that she's unaware the other Veela are already knocking on Hagrid's door. It should be time for the Sentinel to leave as well. And you could use the rest.

Perhaps a little hint is appropriate. "Is zere anything else I can do for you, La Fae?"

The effect of your words is instantaneous, though completely unintended. She stops smiling at once. The alarmed look on her face has an eyebrow climbing high on your forehead. Katalin turns to check on Anca and Hestia, only calming down when she realizes they're distant and busy enough not to have heard you.

"What did you call me?" she asks weakly, taking a step closer to you. "Have you heard my name before?"

Your expression remains the same and you count off the small list that makes you sure about what you're saying, "Szárny, Warrior, agarwood, birth mark, white 'air, too young for a Consular Triad..."

You quickly glance at her sword, "And carrying Magyril." Lowering your head, you speak in the same stealthy tone as hers, "It all fits. I zink I made ze correct guess, non?"

She closes her eyes and nods despite herself, "When did you figure it out?"

"I 'ad my suspicions before," you answer truthfully, though you're not about to reveal the detail of Harry's magical map, "and tonight, after you removed your travel cloak, ze details were just zere, ready to be seen."

Tilting your head at the other Veela, it's your turn to make a question, "I presume zey do not know?"

"Anca does. She's a first class Seeress. Even what I want to keep from her..." she sighs wearily, shaking her head. "It doesn't stay that way for long."

You nod in understanding. The Seeress at your village is someone who can see right through you, too.

"But you recognized the signs. How can you be aware of them?" the Warrior asks in a rather demanding, almost urgent tone.

"My grandmuzzer taught me about ze Szárny," you reply simply. "She studied all over Europe when she was young, learning about ze legends and stories of ze Clans. I loved to listen to 'er."

She slowly nods, evidently surprised. "So you know," she mutters a little later, with a mixture of wonder and confusion. "And yet, you don't treat me any different."

"I was also taught not to show someone like you unusual deference. At least not in your current status," you watch the frowning Veela, hanging to every one of your words, a troubled look still quite clear about her. "Unless ze conditions for your special assignment arise, zere is no reason to see you under anuzzer perspective."

Old memories from conversations with your grandmother replay in your mind. The Warrior in front of you has a long lineage of reputable ancestors to live up to, as well as a hard path of responsibilities lying ahead of her. That's a life you wouldn't choose for yourself if you had an option out of it. Katalin never had that option. She was born without one.

You sigh and try to offer her something that might ease her discomfort, "And ze little I did just now, I can stop. I will not call you by title again, should zat be your preference."

"Yes, it is. Please," there's a degree of fatigue in her voice, making her sound bored and older than her years. "I find it exhausting to live up to the expectations of blood all the time. It's a relief to be treated like anyone else, don't you agree?"

"I would not know, Katalin. You are speaking to a part-Veela zat lives among wizards. I _am_ one of zose anyone-elses. Blood does not come wiz as many demands for me," you counter with conviction.

"No," she replies slowly, carefully, "maybe not. I meant no disrespect. In my eyes, it doesn't lessen your worth. On the contrary, actually. Your blood has an interesting mix, Fleur. You seem to have the best of both worlds. Some emotional control, from the human side. And from the Veela, strong charms. It's surprising that they can be so gentle. But I can't say the same for your pheromones. Those are-"

"Out of control, I know. I am working on zat. Or I would be, if I knew 'ow," you grouse in dismay.

Anca calls out for Katalin and she swerves to acknowledge the Elder, "I should go."

The Sentinel sneaks a short look at the unicorns and frowns. You can guess what that means, "Oui, you really should. 'Agrid is waiting for you. I can tend to ze unicorns while you are wiz 'im."

She seems uncertain to accept, glancing at the unicorns again, "I appreciate the offer, but there are three of them, Fleur. I won't let you do that by yourself. We can work faster together while Anca and Hestia get started. I'll see Hagrid after we're done. How's that?"

The trio trades a look and Hermione moves closer, speaking for her friends, "It's alright. We'll help. Fleur can show us what to do."

The Veela slowly nods at the Gryffindors and sounds relieved, "Thank you. That is very kind of you. Here," she adds, removing a small bag attached to her belt and handing it to you, "these are their favorite sugar-honey lumps. They can have as many as they want."

"And fresh water? Or something else?" you ask, wondering about any other special instructions to follow.

"Water, yes. They should appreciate some water," she says. "The ride was long."

"We will take good care of zem." Realizing most of her accessories will be unnecessary inside the cabin, you volunteer somewhat uncertainly, "Would you like me to take your longbow and quiver, too?"

She regards you in silence before agreeing, "Certainly, why not? Hagrid's home has always been a crowded place." Katalin presents you the items, keeping only the sheathed sword at her belt, "Please, handle them carefully."

As you're nodding and securely taking hold of her things, the Sentinel continues in an inviting tone, "Go on and put them to good use, Fleur. We'll be busy in there for some time. It must've been a while since you last had the chance."

You raise a challenging eyebrow at her, "You do not even know if I am like you."

"Call it intuition. Something tells me you have it in you," she replies with the smallest of smiles, turning sideways to leave. The Warrior takes a single step and stops, hesitating.

Glancing at the Veela patiently waiting at the door, you ask a soft "Katalin?" to prompt her from her thoughts.

"There's an interesting old saying in my Clan, Fleur, about how a first impression lasts for life. Elders have passed it down from generation to generation until its roots were lost in time." The Sentinel's voice is too low now for the Gryffindors to hear, as if she was being careful to speak to your ears only. Her head hangs down a little and the awkward position conceals most of her face from you, "That rings very true to us, Veela. Little do we need, to learn the best and the worst in each other. There never is any room for mistakes."

If you weren't looking, you'd miss the flash of green checking your expression through dangling bangs.

Lower and lower, her voice fades to a weak whisper, "It's a very rare occasion when someone makes a striking first impression."

Her lips slowly curl as the few words start to shuffle and reshuffle your features to mirror the surprise twisting inside you. She spends a few more seconds to fall back into her neutral expression before drifting away.

At last you don't detect any unfamiliar charms in range and can stop worrying about your blockade. It's refreshing to ease your mind once again. Soon, the Triad stands together, knocking and calling Hagrid's name. There's a soft squeaking noise of rusty hinges in motion and, right on time, you catch a last glimpse of the visitors gliding indoors.

Whirling in the other direction, you head for the unicorns, shaking your head the entire way. You look at the items in your hands and think of their owner. What a character. Veela think humans are weird. Well, some of them make an effort to take the cake, at times.

Footsteps follow you to the first line of trees and you stop in your tracks for a quick request to the Gryffindors, "Please, wait 'ere. I will bring ze unicorns when zey are ready. You should give zem some space, especially 'Arry and Ronald."

They nod and take a few steps back. You set the bow and quiver next to the Veela's cloaks, noticing they are piled on a rock too dry and clean not to have experienced the effects of magic. Standing straight, you tie Katalin's bag to your belt and face the majestic creatures, smiling. The unicorns raise their heads high when they see you, their long manes spilling loosely around their necks.

"Wow. Jus' look at that," Ronald exclaims in awe, a little behind you. "They ride unicorns in the forest, mate. Is that cool or what?"

Approaching the unicorns, you remove your gloves and stop a few feet away, extending your right hand at them, "'Ello, zere. Your friends asked me to look after you. Are you 'ungry? 'Ow about some water?"

"Definitely cool," Harry replies to his friend, excitement seeping into his voice. "Check their horns, Ron. And all three are whiter than the snow. How do you think they caught mature unicorns?"

The unicorns nicker softly and accept your invitation, pacing closer to nuzzle your hand and try to nip the bag at your waist. You take the time to pat all of them, rubbing between their eyes in the way you know they like.

"Beats me. They're s'posed to be really fast," the readheaded boy chirps. "Look, the tails reach the ground."

"Yeah, some of the strongest hairs there are. And great for magic," Harry continues.

"Like the core of both my wands," Ronald says proudly.

But then his upbeat tone sinks a bit, "What's wrong, Mione?"

Wondering if something happened, you're about to take a look at the Gryffindors, when a rustle of robes is followed by Hermione's swift, though half-stunned answer, "So you _can_ pay attention in class, when it suits you."

Dead silence. You nearly laugh out loud, imagining the look on the boys' faces.

And then they dash to get out of the tight spot.

"Unicorns, Mione. Who wouldn't want to learn about unicorns?" Ronald raves in a tone that implies the brunette has gone mad for even bringing it up.

"C'mon, it can't compare to Potions with Snape," Harry argues next, a bit softer, trying to make an appeal to his friend's logical side. "It really can't."

"Yeah," the ginger adds in, "Or staring at crystal balls, or goblin rebellions and, er, warlock somethings, and the rest from History of Magic."

"You're impossible, the pair of you. Honestly. Every class is important," the brunette retorts, and you notice the very subtle hint of humor lacing her voice. "One day I'll stop lending you my notes, you'll see."

At last you turn around slowly and a small smile breaks free on your lips at once, unseen by any of the students. You just stand there, watching as Hermione is trying hard to manage the simultaneous task of glaring at her friends without letting her smile show. But the boys eventually catch up and they're soon back in good terms, chuckling together. Though her arms remain crossed for a while longer.

You smirk. Talk about friendly banter. That's something you recognize well.

In small steps, you walk back to the clearing and the creatures tag along, still trying to sink their teeth into Katalin's bag. When they see there's extra company, they ignore Hermione and start rowdy complaints addressed at the boys. Katalin's unicorn, in particular, decides to put up a feisty show and flings its head back, threatening to kick the front legs.

Spreading your arms in front of the unicorns, you manage to get their undivided attention and say a loud "Easy" that makes them calm down temporarily, although they snort, swish their tails and ogle the boys very suspiciously. Turning to the Gryffindors, you notice that the two friends have retreated several paces on their own, while Hermione is doing the exact opposite, seeking out the beautiful creatures.

There's nothing more you can do than offer the boys an apologetic look, "Zey did not react very well. You know zey prefer ze company of girls, non?"

"We saw that in class, Fleur. It's alright, really," the black-haired boy smiles, grabs Ronald by the arm and they back away further, until the unicorns become silent again. But the one thing he can't do is completely hide his disappointment. Noticing your stare, Harry becomes a little self-conscious and points out, shortly after, "Hermione's doing okay."

You chance a glance, watching Hermione soothingly pat the unicorns' heads while whispering to them.

Returning your attention to the quiet boys, you try to get them involved, too, "You can still 'elp, if you want. Zey will like to drink water and we need a container for zat. Does 'Agrid 'ave anything we can use?"

Without a blink, the eager boys scurry away to find out while you smile inwardly. They didn't even stop to consider that you could've transfigured a large rock into a nice tank.

Walking to the brunette, you take the small bag from your belt and search inside, picking half a handful of sticky golden lumps with a strong and sweet scent. Hermione takes a few and starts to offer one at a time to each of the hungry steeds.

"That bag is so small," the girl remarks. "Will it be enough to feed them properly?"

"I zink so," you reply. "Zese are enchanted treats, made by fairies. Zey should be satisfied wiz less zan 'alf ze lumps in ze bag."

Her eyebrows jerk up in surprise and she smiles, pleased at the news, "That must be a quite the recipe."

"Fleur," Ronald calls out to you, keeping a proper distance, "we found a couple of large buckets that could work. Harry is emptying them now. What do you think?"

You nod at once, "Bring zem over, please. Zose should do."

Shortly after, Harry and Ronald have returned and the champion takes advantage of his summoning abilities, "Accio buckets!"

The objects zoom at him, easily floating into his grasp. Hermione's grin couldn't stretch wider at her friend's successful spell. Harry hands them over and you set them close to the unicorns, tie the bag to your belt again and reach for your wand with your clean hand. Non-verbally, you conjure a weak jet of water and wash out the syrupy residue on your other hand.

"Was that the spell you used at the First Task? To put out the fire from the dragon?" an observant brunette asks.

"Oui. Your 'ands need cleaning too, non?" you say, letting more water trickle in her direction.

She starts to rub them under the soft spray, but her stare doesn't leave your wand. Guessing where her thoughts have gone, you volunteer, "Would you like to learn zis spell?"

The brunette looks at you and smiles in excitement. You wave your wand again and this time hot air starts to vent from the tip. Carefully, you move your hand over the steady stream until it's dry and soon she's following your example. Entranced by your wand again, she starts to absentmindedly bite her lip.

"Zis one too?" you suggest, smiling at her unrelenting stare.

Her cheeks take on a pink undertone and she nods slowly. You take a look at the unicorns, realizing soon that these spells can be well applied to their needs.

"Zen I zink zis is a good chance for you to learn both. Tonight you will 'ave plenty of chances to practice," you say, squeezing her shoulder in an encouraging way. "Take out your wand when you are ready, 'Ermione."

She checks that her hands are completely dry, unpockets her wand, and then raises an eyebrow at you in an expectant way.

"First, we should fill zese buckets, non?" You stand beside her and move your wand slowly, making sure she can see well, and then repeat the same motion a few times. "Ze incantation for zis one is 'Aguamenti'. Remember to be careful about ze intensity of ze magic. Now it is your turn. Try it out."

Mimicking your demonstration, she rehearses the wand movements a few times until there's nothing left to improve. The brunette finally attempts the complete charm, adding the incantation. A slow drip starts to fall from the tip of the wand and the smile on her face is just... _luminous_. You chuckle softly.

The unicorns pace closer, showing interest in the leaking liquid. It's proof enough that they are quite thirsty by now, especially after munching on the overly sweet snacks.

"Zat is it. All you 'ave to do now is learn ze way to control ze jet," you say and step back. "Time to practice. Change ze rate of ze flow of water until you master ze spell, 'Ermione. I will see if your friends want to learn it, too."

You leave the brunette attending to the buckets and find the boys sitting on a farther couple of rocks, deeply engrossed in chatter, guessing what the Marauders must have done while they spent their nights running through the grounds. When you're close enough, they notice your presence and stop talking, giving you rather shy looks.

Taking the sudden silence as your cue, you start with a cheery tone, "'Ermione is learning a few spells and practicing wiz ze unicorns. Would you like to try zem as well?"

"Study and practice? No way," Ronald answers awfully fast.

So fast that he only seemed to realize it could be taken as a crude response a few seconds later, and that's when his ears turn a deep red. He glances around, trying to find a way to fix that in a loud voice, "Er, Mione can handle it just fine, right, Mione?"

The girl stays where she is and replies in an unfazed tone, "Sure, Ron. Never you mind. I can help Fleur by myself."

Harry smiles awkwardly and changes the subject, "Uhm, Fleur, is it like that in every Veela village? Do you ride unicorns, too?"

You shake your head a few times, "Non, in my forest zere are no unicorns. Each village adapts to ze creatures in zeir woods. Wild 'orses are our option."

"Oh..." Ronald states in an apathetic voice, giving you a look full of pity. "_Regular_ horses?"

Before you can think of reacting, Harry steps on his friend's foot as stealthily as he can and turns to glare at him. You quirk an eyebrow at the flinching redhead, while he looks at Harry with an expression of unveiled pain.

Whatever he saw on Harry's face makes him stretch a weird smile at you and perform an overdone shrug, raising his palms in front of him, "I'm sure it's the same as riding unicorns."

You clearly hear Hermione's snort at his attempt at pleasantries.

"I disagree, Ronald. You were both right before, for ze most part," you say, pretending not to see Ronald massaging his foot and mouthing an angry 'What' at his friend.

Harry shakes his head in frustration, just as you head back to Hermione's side so the boys can't see your wide grin. Ronald is really something.

"It must be incredible, to ride zrough ze woods on a unicorn. A wild 'orse cannot compare. Unicorns are very fast, as you said, and never get lost. Zis is probably why zey were chosen as zeir mounts. But you made one mistake, 'Arry," you remark loudly enough to keep the boys within hearing range, at the same time you're nodding in approval at the two bucketfuls of fresh water that Hermione is presenting the unicorns. "Zese unicorns were not caught against zeir will. Zey were asked to carry ze Veela."

"Asked?" Harry's voice reaches you. Through the corner of your eye, you see the boys testily coming closer, but still respecting a reasonably large bubble of space around the steeds.

You nod and continue, conversationally, knowing they're all curiously interested, "Oui. Veela protect ze woods and ze creatures zat live zere. When zere is real need and a request is made, it is said zat even ze most untamable creature will come to our aid."

Hermione touches your arm, "Fleur, only the most dangerous beasts are classified as untamable. Even those would answer that call?"

"Oui, even zose. We cannot control zem indefinitely or ask zem to give up zeir freedom and remain wiz us. We explain what needs to be done and zey 'elp. Once ze request is fulfilled, zey return to ze wild. Zat is what will 'appen 'ere as well. Zese are free unicorns. After ze trip back to ze village, zey will go back to zeir 'erd. Zat is, until zey are called upon again. Is it not correct, mighty one?" you reach for the nearest unicorn, rubbing its head lightly.

The unicorn nickers and nods a few times, waiting its turn to drink some more. A loud responding neighing comes from behind Hagrid's cabin. The abraxans must be awake now.

Hermione starts to stroke Katalin's unicorn, combing careful fingers through the long hair on its back, "Their winter coats are really thick, much thicker than on the unicorns we've had in class this week. So fluffy... Have you notice they seem softer than wool?"

"Zey should," you reply with a smile and sink your fingers close to hers. "Unicorns 'ave ze softest 'air among all ze equines, magical and non-magical. I am impressed wiz 'ow long it is, zough. Probably zis cold weather favors so much growth. It feels amazing."

Crouching at the side of the tall creature, you run your hand through the full length of one of its legs, down to the hoof. "Zey crossed a forest covered in snow. Zeir legs are all damp. It gives us a good use for ze uzzer spell. Are you up for it?"

She smiles confidently, gripping her wand, "Sure. I'm ready when you are."

"Great, 'Ermione," you reply, than speak in a louder voice to her friends. "Would you like to try anuzzer spell? Zis one is more complicated. You can find it interesting."

Harry takes the lead before Ronald can risk an answer, "We're okay, Fleur. Ron and I will watch from here."

The ginger nods in agreement and they settle down on a very large rock, closer to the edge of the forest. You were not expecting that. The Aguamenti spell was quite simple, but you thought that a more complex one might make them curious enough to want to participate.

You turn to face Hermione, "Very well, it seems zis is between you and me. Ze Hot-air charm requires a fast and very wavy wand movement. I will do it slowly a few times," you say, starting the same procedure as you'd done before. First a demonstration of how to manoeuvre the wand, which you repeat a very large number of times, trying to make it as easy as you can, and then the incantation.

The brunette concentrates harder for this one, practicing, repeating and correcting it until you have no more input to offer. Once she reaches that point, on her first attempt at the full charm, a column of hot air swiftly shoots from her wand.

"Zat deserves praise, ma belle," you whisper. "You managed very quickly."

"Only because I have the best teacher ever," she returns in the same tone, her pinkish cheeks framing a small smile.

"Come on, now. Zere is much to do," you say, guiding her closer to her first target, the front leg of Katalin's steed. "You need to take care because ze temperature can be too 'igh. Test it on your free 'and to see if ze distance is enough to dry, but not burn. And always stay at ze side of ze unicorn."

"Okay. Are you going away?" she asks.

"Non. I will be right 'ere wiz you. Zere are uzzer zings I want to check to make sure zey are ready for ze ride back. And we can talk, too," you reply. Then you hunker down beside her to reach for the golden hoof on the hind leg and light up the tip of your wand for a good look. Pausing, you glance as she casts the spell slowly, "I forgot to zank you for 'elping me. I 'ope zis is at least a little entertaining to you."

"It's more than that. Everything was surprising. Take a look at Ron and Harry," the brunette points out, overlooking her friends in wonder. "They can't go inside to see Hagrid, they can't come near the unicorns. I know my friends and they should be bored. But no, they're excited, just talking by themselves. This is nice, for a change. Harry was so down after dinner that I couldn't convince him to stay away."

"You all like 'Agrid very much. Ze Veela saw zat. Zey even tried to cheer you a bit, zat is why zey talked to all of you. I was surprised zat Anca shared a little of zeir activities wiz you. I zink tonight was ze first time someone discovered zeir secret existence 'ere, and it did not bother zem," you add. "I cannot complain myself about zeir visit. Zis 'as been much more absorbing zan a class in ze dungeons."

She nods, offering you a sympathetic and rather small smile.

"What about you? 'Ow are you doing after your night of poor sleep?" you ask curiously, while you pull out a small pebble imbedded in the hoof you're cleaning.

"I'm fine. I don't feel as tired as I should... You're probably right. This meeting has kept us all interested. Veela in the Forbidden Forest... Who would've thought? A Seeress, a Healer, a Warrior, unicorns, patrols, the Marauders, even Sirius..." Her stare lingers on you. The brunette straightens up and moves closer, "A few times you were so formal I almost didn't recognize you. There was so much I didn't understand. I guess I really don't know anything about you, do I?"

You glance at the girl and set the hoof down, "I am done 'ere, too. We can trade positions so we always stay side by side, taking care of the same unicorn."

Hermione nods and takes your previous place. You move on to check the other hoof as she performs her spell carefully. In a softer tone, you reply, "You know a little about me, zough it is mostly related to ze 'uman part of my life. I understand your impression for ze uzzer part. Veela are not ze same as wizards. We follow some ancient formalities and it must be a bit strange to witness."

She stops and bites her lip, "Is it something of a secret?"

"We are a bit secretive, of course. Every sentient magical race is. Ze location of ze villages, our numbers, 'ow we survive in ze forests, ze details of our magic, even our traditions, zose are not common knowledge. It was zrough isolation zat we made it over ze centuries. Trust me, 'Ermione, ze enchanted woods are a different realm. Ze life of a Veela 'as little to do wiz ze life of a wizard," you explain, watching as the brunette starts to frown.

"Okay, when it comes to comparing living in the woods with living in a city, you have a good point, Fleur, but it can't all be different between us. We are the same in essence, at the most basic principle, I think. Wizards and Veela have highly organized societies, each with their codes of conduct, their laws and their secrets. Like this one," she says, and lifts her wand to illustrate. "But everything is made possible because of magic, for all of us. We should be brought together by magic, not apart."

You think about her words and slowly nod, "Well put, but ze problem is zat our views on magic are not entirely aligned. Veela 'ave a purpose to find balance, to improve ourselves in order to serve better zose zat depend on us. Little 'as changed since ze first village was founded. We keep ze same caste structure, ze same values, ze same relations wiz beings and beasts, ze same allies and ze same enemies. Our lives are as simple and as complicated as zat. Zere is no ambition for more. Our magic 'as never been used to seek power. We do not consider ourselves superior to uzzer races."

Her reply zooms out briskly, somewhat defensively, "Well, many wizards agree with the Veela's point of view. Only a radical group has beliefs of supremacy like that."

"I know, and although zat group is powerful enough to influence governments, it gives me 'ope zat change can 'appen in ze future. Zere will be a day for union and better understanding. A day when secrets will be shared as a sign of trust and friendship," you say gently.

Her face falls with disappointment, "Until then, does it mean I'm not allowed to ask you anything?"

You chuckle at her reaction and she gives you a questioning look. "Actually, non, zat is not correct. I will clarify your doubts about Veela as best I can."

"Really? That's great, Fleur," her faces relaxes instantly into a cute smile. "I've been trying to find the right way to ask about this since they went into the cabin."

"Oui, I know. It is almost like I can read ze questions in your eyes," you tease her. "But it is fine. Ask away."

And then, there is a smirk, "You do know that speaking like that, you're giving free rein to my curious side, right? You might end up with regrets."

Your eyes narrow a little, "You are correct. I am starting to 'ave second zoughts on zis. Considering it is you, I am sure zere must be a scary number of questions ready after all zat you saw and 'eard tonight."

She huffs in that playful way and you go on, more seriously now, "It should not be too 'ard to explain at zis stage. Even you, 'Ermione Granger, will need to learn ze basics before you start making some of ze complicated questions. Or ze uncomfortable ones."

"Mmmmmmm," the brunette hums suggestively, "thanks for the tip. So there are complicated _and_ uncomfortable questions to make. I'll keep that in mind."

"Non, stop right zere," you cut in while she chuckles at the look on your face. "I was not supplying you wiz ideas, only stating ze obvious."

"See? Regrets already," she deadpans in a satisfied tone.

You roll your eyes at the laughing brunette as she stands up, appreciating the effects of her spellwork on the dry leg in front of her. You both move to the other side of the unicorn. While Hermione gets started, one of them sniffs at Katalin's bag and you serve another round of treats.

After cleaning the sticky remains from your hands, you refill the buckets and Hermione starts, "They are pure-Veela, aren't they?"

"Oui," you reply simply, already holding up the hoof opposing her and lighting up your wand.

"I'd never seen pure-Veela up close like that. They are... erm... uh..." her voice trails off and you notice she's started to bite her lip with might. Nothing coherent finds a way out of those lips.

You let her hesitation last a few heartbeats and then chuckle softly, "It is quite difficult to put into words, non? Veela can be baffling to describe."

Even though she tries to keep it from view, her blush is very noticeable, "Baffling doesn't do them justice... I... I'm sorry, Fleur. Is it awkward that I'm talking to you about someone else like that? Actually, failing to do that?"

One of your eyebrows rises slowly, "Non, of course not. Zat is who zey are. I know 'ow it is for 'umans, to be face to face wiz adult Veela for ze first time. I 'ave seen it before too many times. My muzzer is only 'alf-Veela and it is common for wizards to lose ze ability to speak in 'er presence. Ze beauty of a Veela is something zat anyone living outside ze woods would find wizout equal."

"I can't argue there. Their looks are almost unbelievable." She still bites her lip. "Er, you mentioned that they're adult Veela. Does age matter a lot?"

You nod, watching as the other unicorns move about, making sure they don't go near the boys, "Age 'as an influence. Pure-blooded adults are ze most striking of ze race. Zere are indications of beauty during our younger years, but it only blooms completely in ze grown-ups."

She looks at you as she thinks about that new information, "So you... _you_ are still going to change."

"I might. Perhaps a little... I zink," you reply, with some uncertainty. "Do not forget I am only part-Veela, more 'uman zan Veela, actually."

The wheels are still turning in her head, you can tell, but she sighs and presses forward, "It was at the Quidditch World Cup, this summer, that Harry, Ron and I saw Veela for the first time. There was this large group with the Bulgarian team. But they looked alike. Anca, Hestia and Katalin don't resemble anyone from that group. They can't even be compared to one another."

You smile at that, "It was quite a display tonight, even for me. Zey are from Clans far apart. It must be why zey are so distinct."

"Did you know them?" she goes on as she stands up and walks close to you. Quietly, she pats the unicorn, waiting for you to finish and change places with her.

"Non, not personally. Ze Delacour 'ave strong ties wiz ze Calenica Clan. I 'ave met some of zeir teenagers years ago when zey traveled to our village for an archery trial. I did not know about Anca, zough. Ze Elatia are so secluded zat I zink not even my grandmuzzer 'as been to visit zem. She will be amused to know zat I came across someone from zere. And ze Szárny," you pause and take a deep breath, "well, ze Szárny is ze eldest Clan of ze Veela. We all know a little about zem."

"Mm-hmmm, like what?" the brunette asks and crouches down where you were, as you walk to the last hoof on this unicorn. You notice the boys are now laughing loudly about something to do with quidditch.

"Zey are ze most unique representatives of our race. In ze 'istory of Veela zere were many important Warriors in ze battles to protect ze enchanted forests. Of all ze Clans, none produced as many outstanding names as ze Szárny. It is said zat zey are ze most beautiful Veela in 'uman form. And also ze scariest in our... uzzer morph. Even in ze smallest of zings ze Szárny are unusual and different. Katalin is a good example of zat," you say and take the time to stretch before you continue.

The sudden relaxation helps stir a long yawn and it reminds you of how tired you really are. You blink quickly to clear your eyes from the excessive moisture that rushed there.

Hermione doesn't let the silence linger, "Small things like the color of her hair or that smell of incense?"

"Actually, ze white 'air is extremely rare among Veela, even for 'er Clan. Zat makes Katalin stand out on 'er own," you explain. "But pheromones scented like agarwood, ze natural incense, is one of ze zings zat is quite typical in Veela from 'er Clan. It is considered a relic of ze old blood and 'elps to identify zem."

She turns to look at you, frowning, "She said something about your scent, too."

"Oui. Veela usually smell of flowers. Anything else is unusual. Especially in uzzer Clans," you shrug dismissively.

"What does it mean? Aren't the pheromones in your family like yours?" You can feel her intent stare through the corner of your eye, her activity well forgotten for the time being.

"No one knows for certain what it means. Or if it 'as a meaning at all," you take your lower lip between your teeth for a while, hoping the casual tone hides away your discomfort at the topic at play. Trust Hermione to march straight into your insecurities without knowing it. "My entire family 'as flowery pheromones. I am ze first oddball in zeir midst. It might be because of my mixed genetics. Perhaps my little sister will be like me. We shall 'ave to wait until she grows up and see."

She seems satisfied and soon more hot air is misting in front of a damp leg. It takes little for her to come up with another line of inquiry. "What kind of handshake was that? I mean, it's not even right to call it a handshake, but I can't find a better way to describe it."

This one you were expecting.

You'd be amazed if Hermione didn't ask about it, and you answer while healing a tender spot in the golden hoof, "An adult Veela does not touch another zat is a stranger. We use our 'ands to deliver magic, so ze physical contact between two Veela is charged wiz a lot of zat. Ze sensation is described as too powerful or too intimate."

You pause, thinking you couldn't agree more after zat experience with Anca. "Because of zat, ze touch is a privilege reserved for very close friends, family and lovers. Instead of touching, we introduce ourselves by sensing ze magic of one anuzzer. Each one of us 'as a unique way to manifest magic, an individual signature. No one else is ze same. It cannot be duplicated."

"So only Veela can feel it?" she probes further.

"Oh, non. Anyone who is sensitive enough to magic in general can share ze experience. It is like detecting ze presence of wards," you reply and look at her. "When you cross ze gates of 'Ogwarts, on ze way from 'Ogsmeade, can you feel ze wards? A sensation of 'air standing on end, perhaps? Or goose bumps?"

"I do feel something funny there," she speaks slowly, thinking. "But I never thought it could be a reaction to the wards."

She sets her wand on her knee and claps her hands together, mumbling something that sounds like 'too much loose hair'. The girl finally grips her wand again and watches you set the healed hoof down.

"One unicorn down, two to go. But, before we continue, hold out your hand, 'Ermione. Even I am curious now," you request, already standing up and stretching a hand in her direction. She takes her wand in her left hand and offers you the other one, repeating the gesture she's seen you perform with the Veela. Once again you let a surge of magic build up in your palm and you lower your hand close to hers, not touching it, "Tell me if zere is anything out of ze ordinary."

"My skin... it's prickling," she says in awe. "There's a slight pressure at the center of my palm, like a faint warmth... and then it spreads out in waves, to the tips of my fingers.

You smile at her, "Zat is my Veela magic. You 'ave ze ability to feel it. We can go to ze gates of ze school sometime and practice. I will show you what to do to detect ze wards."

She lifts her palm in front of her eyes and wiggles her fingers as if they were entirely new to her. The brunette is so lost in her thoughts that you choose a fairly creative way to give her a taste of reality: you carefully grip her shoulders and steer her to the next creature. Startled brown orbs finally snap from their trance to look at you and she chuckles when she realizes what you're doing, but doesn't offer resistance as you guide her through the short distance and plant her in front of the next assignment.

As you're moving to the next hoof, a soft soughing wind startles bare branches in a rocking motion and you look at the trees, letting the cold gust bathe your skin. You fill your lungs, absorbing some of that freshness.

This would be perfect, except for a vague stench of rot that you detect at the end of the deep inhalation. There's something about it that makes you take a few more lungfuls to feel it again, but it doesn't repeat itself. You let your eyes wander through the trees, searching. Searching for... you don't know what. Perhaps if you search more you'll have your answer, and so you insist.

"What is it?" Hermione's intrigued question reaches your ears.

"Probably nothing," you answer slowly. "I zought I smelled something unpleasant, but I cannot tell for sure."

You stay a little longer, but your eyes find nothing and the smell has disappeared. Shrugging, you return to your appointed duty.

Even before you get started, another question is already flying at you, "You refer to each other by your given names, but they are more formal with us. Is there a reason for that?"

"It is... protocol," you answer, pleased to notice this hoof is in pristine condition and will take no time to be fully clean. "After two Veela 'ave been introduced, we only use our first names. Zat is ze proper way. But when a Veela meets someone of a different race, zere is a need to get better acquainted before first names are allowed."

The brunette processes that briefly, "You don't trust easily."

Right on target.

You smile at her fast reasoning, "Non, it is an achievement to earn ze trust of a Veela. Something zat comes with time, and only zen ze formalities stop."

Her head bobs up and down a few times, "I see. By merit, then."

"More or less like zat," you agree somewhat. "Trust runs more freely between two Veela, zough it is frail at ze moment of introductions and builds up from zen on."

"Then it is unusual for Veela to be too friendly to someone they've just met?" she asks.

"What do you mean?" you return, standing up and stretching again to ease the tension on your back. No yawn this time.

"That Katalin Warrior," she replies in a sweet voice, patting the unicorn.

Too sweet. You frown and stand behind her.

"There was a moment when she was with us... No, with _you_, actually. She barely noticed we were there, too... It was odd. The way she treated you was different from the others."

"Oui. She is a Szárny, a special Szárny," you state simply, hefting her up when she's done and exchanging places with her. The hoof in front of you is in even better condition than the previous one. You'll be finished faster this time.

"I fail to see how that explains anything," she grumbles, seriously. You spin to see her deep frown, realizing at last that she's watching you closely and struggling to keep her temper in check.

Her words are a clear demand for more, though you _did_ give her a reasonable explanation. At least one that holds meaning among Veela. After a long sigh, you make your way back to where she is, crouch at her side to help spelling the hair dry, and then offer some extra substance to the argument.

"Je suis désolée. It should serve as an explanation, even if you zink it does not explain much. Ze Szárny are known for being different. I told you zis, hmm? Zeir looks, scent, traditions, everything, zey even fight and 'eal differently from uzzer Veela. Katalin, to say it plainly, is even more unusual zan ze standard Szárny," you say, recalling the inscriptions on her robes. "She probably is a very promising 'eiress in 'er Clan. I suppose zat explains 'er behavior."

"_Heiress_?" She tips her face towards you, slowly connecting the dots, "Please tell me you mean as in wealth."

You shake your head, "Non. Each Clan 'as zeir riches and treasures, but zat is not what I was talking about. Katalin is a 'eiress, as in royalty. We call zem _La Fae_, straight descendants of ze first traceable Veela, a bloodline preceding ze registries of our 'istory in parchment. Zey 'ave specific physical traits - ze snow-white 'air, a birthmark in ze shape of a star, ze agarwood scent. All La Fae are Warriors. All from ze Szárny Clan."

"I didn't know there was a standing monarchy among magical beings," the brunette remarks.

You pat the dry limb and motion for you to take the other side of the unicorn, each one of you tending to a different leg again, "Because zere is not. It does not work as a permanent arrangement. I said before, 'Ermione, Veela 'ave no ambition for power. When it is required, in case of extreme danger or war, and only zen, ze appropriate 'eiresses are crowned Queens. Zey serve very specific purposes. La Fae represent Veela in diplomatic negotiations wiz uzzer races and unite ze Clans to lead us into battle. After ze situation is resolved, zey relinquish zeir crowns to become regular Warriors once more."

"It sounds highly unusual," she states. "And why would that explain her behavior?"

"I zink zat one of ze qualities of a good leader should be ze ability to 'andle well new acquaintances, to treat zem politely and earn zeir respect, non?" you speculate. "She would 'ave a tendency to be more attentive to me, since I am Veela, zough she was not impolite to any of you."

She chews on that for a while, conceding at last, "Okay, it makes sense... But then, why was she shocked that you'd recognized her as a heiress? If she is from the right Clan and she doesn't conceal the telltale signs, someone would make the connection, eventually."

This unicorn most definitely has harder, sturdier hooves. The one in your hand is looking great, too. You set it down and use your wand to dry out the leg, getting ahead on readying this creature.

"She was shocked because it is uncommon to find a Veela from anuzzer Clan zat can recognize a La Fae. Ze description of zose signs is not divulged, even among Veela, for zeir protection. I only made ze right guess because I 'ad learned more about zem. As a girl, I was very curious and my grandmuzzer indulged me too much. She spent long 'ours sharing what she learned in 'er exploring trips, and I was an avid listener."

"But Katalin lives in a secret village. She doesn't need protecting," she replies, still not convinced. "She shouldn't need to hide who she is."

"I am only guessing 'ere, but I believe she 'opes zat ze later anyone around 'er finds out, ze better. If she is identified as a 'eiress, someone will forget she is not a Queen, yet, and start treating 'er like one. She would no longer 'ave a chance to be alone or do as she pleases," you say, considering the implications. "For a Warrior used to an independent life, I cannot zink of a worse prospect zan being imprisoned by bureaucracy and procedure."

The brunette follows your explanation carefully, now facing you and oblivious to the limp wand in her hand, "You look concerned. What's on your mind?"

"I was zinking about what zat must 'ave entailed for 'er, to be who she is. It is not something I envy," you admit.

She instantly reasons against your opinion, streaming more hot air on her target, "She's an upstanding figure in your race. Many would disagree with you, wouldn't they?"

"Perhaps you are right. But I consider uzzer zings," your voice sounds tired even to yourself. "She must 'ave 'ad a difficult life. Someone like Katalin was educated from birth about warfare, leadership, diplomacy and who knows what else. And 'er training... I can only imagine 'ow 'ard ze demands must 'ave been on 'er performance."

Hermione doesn't seem to like very much what you're saying and that annoyed frown starts to set in. Again.

She stands, crosses her arms and walks a little away from the unicorn, "I'm done here."

"Now I am ze one zat does not like ze look on your face. What are you zinking, 'Ermione?" you take the turn to ask as you work on the last patch of damp hair, close to the hoof.

She sighs loudly, "People think you're distant, that you put up huge walls to keep everyone away. They're wrong, I know you care. A lot, in fact, sometimes even too much for your own good. You hide it so well that it took me a while to learn how to look past that and really see you. And now it's clear as day for me. You're reaching out to her."

"What?" you ask, not making any sense in her words as you straighten up. You're eye to eye now and you definitely do not like her expression.

"You understand how hard Katalin's life must've been and you feel sympathy for her. I should be touched to see that you are so considerate. But I can't. Not like this. Not with... her. You must think I'm not even making sense anymore," she says, looking down, her voice taking on a harsh edge. "There's something bothering me and I need to get it off my chest, okay?"

You nod quietly.

"Why is that Veela hitting on you?"

You blink.

"'Itting on me?" you whisper as your eyebrows almost shoot out of your forehead.

"Yes, hitting on you," she replies matter-of-factly. "She didn't take her eyes off you the whole time. You wouldn't know, paying attention to the Elder as you were. But Katalin was really _into_ you. She even stayed behind to talk. And that smile..." Hermione growls in a displeased way.

You frown at the large amount of irritation she's finally allowing to radiate around her. "'Er behavior was a little strange, 'Ermione, but it is not as you say. Zat is not possible. It must really be 'er way of being friendly."

The brunette hisses, "How can you think I'm wrong? Did you see anyone else act _friendly_ like her?"

Great. Now you have to defend yourself from something that shouldn't be blamed on you to begin with.

Taking a deep breath, you reply in a cautious tone, "Non, but I 'ave to insist on zis because it is ze simplest way for you to see reason: she is a Szárny. And zey are known to only make ties wiz pure-Veela. As far as I recall, no Szárny ever took an interest in anyone zat was of mixed blood. Some even zink it is a rule in 'er Clan. Ze Szárny 'ave zeir own category of 'different'. Trust me."

This piece of information should be received with an improvement in her mood. A Szárny wouldn't bat her eyelashes twice in your direction, romantically speaking. It's something that just won't happen.

And yet... why do you have a nagging feeling that Katalin was, perhaps, a little, crossing lines?

You shake your head. Enough of this. The thinking abilities of your brain must've hit rock bottom if you're even considering it. Utterly frustrating, that's what all this is.

Hermione remains silent for a while and her forehead unfurrows slowly, "Are you sure?"

"Oui, I told you ze truth," you answer seriously, taking her previous place to analyze the last hoof, which you expect to be easy to process, just as the previous three were. A quick glance is enough to verify it was a safe assumption.

She takes a deep breath and you can feel her relief, ebbing away the worst of her anger, dimming a tempest into a thin breeze. "I suppose I could be wrong. I don't know Veela as well as you do. But I still don't like it. That Katalin can be all the different she wants with any _other_ Veela she wants. Just not you," she states with a finality that you'd never heard before in the brunette, coupled with blushing a fierce pink and frowning and crossing her arms and avoiding your eyes.

You rise again, leaving the second unicorn all set at your back. Tilting your head, you consider Hermione. Is she really this jealous? And of this Katalin Veela?

The girl risks glancing at you and clearly misinterprets your reaction, "Unless you're enjoying it, Fleur?"

That snaps you right back into a defensive stance, "Non, zat is absurd. Of course not."

Her eyes search your face and you can guess what she's looking for right now. "I meant zat, 'Ermione," you offer with a sincere smile, the easiest words you've said all night.

She closes her eyes and sighs, shaking her head, "Okay, let's not make an awful deal out of this. I'm sorry. I've had enough headaches for a day."

You nod and wish this is forgotten soon. "Come on, cheer up. Zere is only ze last unicorn now."

The brunette twirls her wand with a resolute expression. "Then let's do this," she says, and then beckons at the cabin. "Do you think they'll be in there much longer?"

"A bit more," you answer as you go around the tallest and largest of the steeds, stealing a glance at the Gamekeeper's home. "'Agrid missed 'is classes ze entire week. For such an enthusiastic professor, zat is a sign zat 'e needs some considerable 'elp."

Before she takes position, you pass her the bag of treats and Hermione is greeted with interested nickers that make her smile. The brunette pats and strokes the unicorns as she sets them on a new sugar high, earning approving nods from all three creatures. You watch that smile steadily grow, the trusting nature of the steeds calming down her anxiety.

Working by yourself, you change the routine of spells for higher effect, combining cleaning and soft warming charms until you've accomplished in half the time what both of you would have done.

Keeping most of your attention focused on the current activity, you take advantage of her apparently relaxed state, "Can I 'ave a turn to ask questions, too?"

She looks a bit taken by surprise, but nods all the same.

"You and your friends 'ave 'ad very... hmm... _interesting_ years at school. A flying muggle car, escaping a werewolf, anuzzer version of you - whatever zat means, animagi in the family..." she winces at the list and you go on, not waiting for her confirmation. This is a simple description of facts, after all. "'Ermione, ze most my friends and I got to do in school was 'ex a few students zat were rude to us... or getting detention for vanishing ze graded exams from a professor... or spell our own secret passages in ze palace... or... or blast ze Duelling Room apart when we were facing each uzzer. Hmm... Zings like zat."

You blush softly at the confession, but notice that her eyes have gone quite wide at the samples from your series of 'unacademic accomplishments', even though they seem so flat when compared to hers. "'Owever, you and your friends? It appears you 'ave reinvented ze concept of troublemaking. And you are still in fourth-year. Wiz zose records, I cannot 'elp zinking zat you 'ave been up to even more zan zat. Will you tell me about it?"

She bites her lip, considering your request, "Sure. You already know a lot. And the Veela filled you in a few things that'd be awkward to tell you, anyway."

"Ze part of Sirius Black, you mean?" the question had been going round and round in your brain and now pops out smoothly.

She nods, biting her lip again. The brunette rubs the last satisfied unicorn, ties the bag closed and watches your silent progression, from leg to leg.

"I know 'e was announced zrough wizardkind channels to be a mass murderer, but I side wiz ze Veela on zis," you say, undisturbed. "Zey would not defend 'im if 'e was not innocent. And ze fact zat you believe 'im also counts for me."

"We do, Fleur. He's Harry's godfather. Someday you might meet him and you'll get to see for yourself," she replies softly.

"I would like zat," you assure her. If it is important to her, then it is important for you, too. "Zis visit exposed plenty of our little secrets. Perhaps it is better zis way."

"Mm-hmm. It gives us a lot to talk until we're square," she agrees.

You chuckle, "I never zought we would 'ave problems talking, 'Ermione. Zis simply means a more adventurous line of topics."

She smiles. Finally a loose, wide and sincerely happy smile again. "Oh, I know we don't have problems talking. It never crossed my mind."

When you're done, you clean your hands and Hermione's for good, and take the Veela's bag back. You walk in circles around the other unicorns, using a last sequence of spells to remove any traces of clinging mud, dirt, leaves or twigs.

Hermione realizes what you're doing now, "Why didn't you do that from the start?"

You only shrug, "Your spell dried and warmed zem, 'Ermione. I am only covering ze final details."

And then you notice it's silent. Way too silent. Looking around, you quickly ask the brunette, "Where 'ave your friends gone?"

Startled, you look at the path to the castle, back to the trees and start to head for the place they'd been sitting down.

"Look! There they are," Hermione's voice cuts through your thoughts and you walk back to her, trying to understand where she's seen them, "in the shadows, sneaking close to one of Hagrid's windows."

You fix your stare on the darkest side of the cabin, but still, you don't see them. She points in their direction and, alas, there they are, very well concealed in the shadows. You groan in frustration, already spinning to leave, "I will go get zem."

"Do you want me to go with you?" she offers, holding your arm in a light grip.

"Please stay wiz ze unicorns. Zis will not be long, I promise."

There's an adorable pout playing at her lips now and you can't remember how to order your legs to move. It takes all of your restraint not to undo it slowly, in the best possible way. But your eyes skitter to the boys, then back at the girl that makes you swoon, and you know there isn't a chance for that. Still, tempting mental images play havoc inside your skull.

"Fleur, I'm _talking_ to you," a rather loud brunette calls out to you.

Your eyes grow wide. "Je suis désolée. I... hmm... got distracted," you explain, smiling sheepishly.

"Distracted? You blanked out on me, probably didn't hear a single word I said. I wonder where your mind went," she protests, poorly hiding a sly smile as she crosses her arms. "Not that you make it too hard to guess, when your cheeks glow in that color."

Oops. Caught.

You feel your face growing warmer. And now there are more alluring and creative mental images.

You check the boys once more, who are almost molding themselves to the cabin as they strain their eyes to peek through gaps in the shutters. Seizing the chance, you drag her behind one of the unicorns, hold her cheeks carefully, and then steal a long and tender kiss, pulling slowly away when your brain screams for oxygen.

It might be all you can afford right now, but you wouldn't miss this for anything. Your fingers slide down her face and you smile at the feel of her skin, until they reach the line of her jaw and let go. The brunette whimpers at the loss of contact and her deep stare finds you again, shifting between your lips and your eyes. You wink at her.

"You are... crazy," she mumbles.

Smiling shamelessly, you reply in a light-hearted tone, "Sometimes we need a little crazy, non?"

She shakes her head, but that little smile lets you know she agrees with you, "Please get them out of trouble and hurry back, alright?"

You nod, stalking silently after the boys. They're so intent on trying to see anything that they fail to notice your approach.

"And just _what_," you ask in a heated whisper, making them jump up in surprise instantly, "are you doing 'ere?"

"Geez, we only wanted to watch the Veela," says a very frustrated and very freckled boy.

"Hagrid," Harry corrects him. "We wanted to see _Hagrid_, Ron."

"Oh, yeah. Sure," the redhead blushes.

Now you understand why Hermione rolls her eyes so much at them. You hook your arms, one around each of the boy's shoulders and steer them back to where they had been sitting before.

"Now, stay and behave yourselves, please. We will 'ave news about 'im soon enough. It should not be much longer. Zere is a limit of time zey can remain away from ze village," you announce.

You vanish the contents of the buckets, and then leave Harry and Ronald to float them back to their rightful place. It is an almost uneventful task, except for the fact that each boy tries to knock down his friend's pail with his own, and a loud string of clanking metal follows their efforts.

And there it is, once more, Hermione rolling her eyes at them, though the way she looks at them afterwards is a resounding statement to the affection she holds for the playful friends. The brunette sits down on the rock they had chosen as their sitting arrangement and waits for their return.

You quietly walk to the pile of items from the Veela and settle down Katalin's bag, close to their cloaks. After a moment of hesitation, your stare locks on the weapons the Sentinel entrusted you. There might be just enough time to accept her offer and you can't deny how much this interests you. There's always plenty that can be said of a Sentinel by checking the quality and care to her weapons.

Frowning, you reach for the full sheaf first. You fish out one of the arrows and start a close observation. It shows a careful fletcher's work, from arrowhead to nock, well built for a powerful longbow. On a whim, you flip and examine the arrowhead closely, smelling it, too. Sharp, snug, not hollow and no definable scents you can detect.

You sink the tip on a mound of snow, pull it back and watch the melting liquid trickle on the metal. Running a couple of fingers over the tip, you rub them against your thumb, smearing the thin coating over your skin to check for residues. Nothing. You take a handful of arrows and quickly search their heads. All turn out similar results. Good news.

Setting down the quiver and leaving all arrows but one, you lift the longbow now, supporting it in both of your hands. As you had suspected, the craftsmanship is superb. Hands down, one of the best you've seen.

The bow is light, despite its size, and made from a strong and pliable stave of yew that must've darkened to its current color over many years. The mottled leather grip looks a bit worn and you glove your hands before fitting your left fingers in a tight clench, noticing how it easily molds to the shape of your hand, yielding under your will. The bowstring is made of interlaced linen threads, attached by dragon horn nocks to the wooden limbs.

Out of blatant curiosity, you pick a distant rock as a virtual target. In a fluid motion, you nock the arrow, raise the longbow in front of you and pull back your right hand until you reach a full draw, keeping the fletchings close to your chin and the rock directly in sight. The flexible arch doesn't make a single sound, even under this strain. And it is a heavier draw than you are used to.

Relaxing your arm and withdrawing the arrow, you check the bowstring again. It looks new and well waxed. This bow was restrung recently, probably within the past week. And you recall that yesterday the other Veela up in the trees with Katalin was stringing her bow, too. It looks like their weapons don't remain stored away, but are always at the ready.

All this just as precautions for scouting? You frown, finding that hard to buy. Perhaps they actually get more use than simple practice.

You draw the arrow again, carefully taking aim. There's hardly any wind and your improved eyesight can pinpoint the far target easily. Your heartbeat starts to picks up speed in anticipation, while a rather crooked smile lifts the right corners of your lips.

A deep breath and you get ready to shoot, when a soft brush against your right arm makes you turn your head, and then remember where you are and that you're not alone. You slowly release the tension and detach the arrow.

"Er... that was a thorough check. So, is it good?" Hermione asks, looking a bit uncertainly at your hands and the Sentinel's possessions.

"You're interrupting her, Mione," Ronald cuts in with a lot more enthusiasm, and you turn to see the boys are sitting down on the rock after the noisy show with the buckets. "Shoot something for us, Fleur. That Veela said you could do it."

Smiling at the ginger boy, you shake your head, and give Hermione your full attention, "Zis is exquisite. It probably 'as been in 'er family for a long time." You remove your right glove and touch the tips of the bow softly, feeling lazy tingles hit your skin, "I can feel ze magic in ze wood, strong and active, preserving it."

"You must've practiced for years to look so comfortable with it. It looks like a work of art, carved and polished neatly. Do you have one, too?" There's no shyness there now. When the spark of curiosity is ignited, the brunette loses a great deal of her inhibitions. You look at the familiar excited glint in her eyes taking over. So her.

"Oui, it is in my trunk. Ze type of wood and design are different, zough, and it is not so long," you explain. "Every Clan 'as its own style and ze best bowyers like to keep zeir special secrets. Making a fine longbow is a very long process. Ze wood is infused in magic for years before it can be carved into ze final shape. Every part of it follows a precise plan, down to ze perfect finish. You are right, it is a work of art, in a way. Someday I can show you mine, if you want to see a different model and zis does not feel too boring or you," you tell her as you run a couple of fingers over the crafted wood, feeling its smoothness.

The brunette keeps track of your hand and you smile, "You can try it, too, if you want."

"I'd like that. I've seen bows before. Muggle longbows in museums, I mean. But I've never handled one," she says, accepting in a beat.

You steal a quick glance at the boys, now engaged in another chat session starring Professor Snape's latest sneers, while you keep your back turned to them.

"It is not so difficult, but you will 'ave to put some effort to pull ze arrow in place. Let me show you." The brunette nods and you're already inviting her closer, offering a stretched hand in her direction.

She takes it and lets you pull her to stand right in front of you. Surrounding her, you guide Hermione through the correct position of her feet, how to hold the bow with her left hand, and then you let her get used to the weight of the artifact. When her arm is steadier, you offer your glove and she slides her other hand into it, "Zis is to protect your fingers."

The brunette closes her fist to get a feeling of the glove, which fits well enough for the experiment. You show her the way to firmly grasp the bowstring and draw it backwards slowly, gauging the resistance of the material. It takes her three tries to get a full draw and you give her time to rest in-between to avoid muscle pain later.

Bringing your face and your left arm right beside hers, simulating her position, you explain how to take aim and make adjustments to compensate for distance, currents of air, rain or snow, and types of arrows. The girl listens closely and, when you give her the instructions to string the arrow, she makes the attempt to pull it in position all the way by herself and release it a few times.

Although it's an exercise that she's never tried, the brunette is persistent, repeating it slowly and not giving up easily as you'd expected. You notice her steady hold on the handle, how she trains the grip of the arrow over and over again, and the way her stare doesn't miss each change in the arch of the wood or the stretch of the cord.

You keep on talking while she practices some more, telling her about famous archers in the woods and their feats. The brunette stays silent as you retell stories you know by heart. Her expression remains calm and focused, more alluring to you than the words slipping from your lips or their meaning.

She looks beautiful and so peaceful, smiling a few times while listening carefully. The weak light around you glimmers on her skin and plays over those bushy strands, that you gently lift and arrange over her shoulders, not missing the faint traces of that soft scent. Somewhere far, far away, you left behind the memories of a troublesome day and a tired mind.

You realize she is here, out in the grounds at night and trying out something entirely new to her, because it has to do with you. A contented smile that she can't see grows at large on your lips. And you're so wrapped in the emotions awakening inside you that it takes some time to realize that the small distance left between you just vanished when she slowly leaned back, resting her head on your collarbone and letting you support a bit of her weight.

"It's alright to stop talking, but you still have to breathe, Fleur. Remember to breathe," she whispers a little later and you can picture the mischievous look on her face.

That sets your lungs straight and working again, as her low chuckle rings in your ears.

"So zis is 'ow you want to do it, Mademoiselle? Perhaps I can 'ave some fun as well," you taunt, removing your left glove, too, to slide both of your bare hands over her waist, tying your fingers together when they meet around her. The jumper of her uniform has a fuzzy texture and you let your thumbs draw small circles, sensing the soft tickling of wool.

Her back becomes stiff against you at once, so you add in a soft voice by her ear, "Zey cannot see zrough my cloak, 'Ermione. Just relax and it will be fine, hmm?" Of course, you could've simply removed your hands, but then again, why would you do that?

She nods and you steer the conversation ahead, feeling a lot better when she starts to loosen up again. You distract her further by correcting her hold on the longbow, "Careful. Ze bow is drooping. Is it feeling 'eavy?"

"I can hold it longer, Fleur. I'm not tired, yet," she replies, but you wonder if she's trying to conceal her weariness.

"You can stop drawing ze arrow, at least. It will make it easier for now," you say, directing her hand to release the pressure on the arrow and finally taking it away from the bowstring. With a glance to assess the right distance, you throw it so it sinks head first in the snow, close to the quiver.

Still keeping a snug contact with her back, you find her limp hand, remove the glove and set it under yours, holding it close to her waistline. It's a bit cold, so you don't waste time to reach out and warm her other hand as well, helping her grip the bow. Tilting your right shoulder, you manage to get your cloak to swirl around in a curve and envelope Hermione also, encasing your bodies together.

"You're so warm. Is it your outfit?" she asks. "What is that? I've never seen anything like it."

"What, zis?" you inquire, tugging the edge of your cloak. "Zis is a scouting uniform, a Veela scouting uniform."

She touches the cloak for a better look, then reaches for your hand and rubs your knuckles a few times, "It's different from what they're wearing. Is that the way they dress at the village?"

"Non. Zey are using ceremonial robes. Zose are meant for special occasions only. Zis, on ze uzzer 'and, is an everyday outfit. It comes in many colors and we can adjust zem for ze seasons. Zis one is reinforced for winter," you explain, showing her the thickness of the cloak.

She nods and turns her attention to the bow again, pinching the fine material of the cord and trying to twirl it between two fingers, "Do you wear it a lot?"

You answer slowly, while demonstrating different ways to grasp the string and test it, "When I go to our village and I 'ave to wander zrough ze woods, zen I do. It is common clothing for us."

She stills her hands and tilts her head sideways, though unable to look at you properly, "I think it looks amazing on you. I mean, you look amazing in anything, but that... I like it. It agrees with you. I guess it shows that different side of who you are, Fleur. Sometimes it's easy to forget that a part of you is not like the rest of us. You look and act so human, I have a hard time reminding myself that there's more to you." She inhales slowly and her voice takes on a hushed tone, "I wish I could turn around right now and kiss you silly."

And there's that goofy smile on your face again. You chuckle softly, knowing she's not only hearing it, but also feeling it resonate through to her. "Merci for ze nice compliments. I did not know what you would zink of zings from zis part of my life. And as for your idea, you can turn around," you say, reinforcing a clear invitation and quickly grazing her temple with your lips. "We are only in ze company of your friends, non?"

"Yes, I know," she replies seriously. "Maybe I'm being too paranoid."

You wait quietly, watching what little you can of the brunette, but she doesn't give away her emotions clearly. Curiosity gets the best of you, "Do you zink zey will not support you?"

"I really can't be sure. We've never talked about this kind of relationship. Actually, relationships in general were never a theme in our conversations... Harry is more down-to-earth. I think he might be supportive. Ron..." she pauses, sighing. "I don't know about Ron."

"You suspect 'e will not be very understanding," you fill the gaps in-between her words.

Slowly, she nods, letting her arm fall in front of her for the first time since she'd raised the longbow.

Guessing she's tired, you take it in your left hand and Hermione crosses her arms, still leaning on your frame. Now that the archery exercise is over, you won't be able to stay so close without drawing unwanted attention from the boys.

You embrace her one last time, rubbing her left arm. "Zis may not be ze right time, zen. But zey are your friends, ma belle, and zis," you say, emphasizing your words with a light squeeze, keeping her closer just a little longer, "is a part of who you are. 'Iding it from zem will not work for long. Friends can see zings zat are not so obvious to anyone else."

She stirs slowly, spinning around to face you and wrap her hands on your waist, "Did... your friends...?"

"Oui. Only one," you say, nodding. "For now."

"I see. What exactly did you tell her?" the brunette asks with a new tint of pink spreading on her cheeks.

"Zere was not a chance to talk, but I will," you reply softly. "She only said zat she 'ad noticed."

"And do you think she's okay with it?"

You catch the uncertainty creeping in her voice. If you're reading this right, the problem is how others will judge a relationship between you. Perhaps it has to do with being the younger one, or your champion label.

"Wiz you and me being together? Of course I do," you reply calmly, hoping some of your confidence rubs on her. You smile and stroke under her chin until she looks better.

And then, you take a risk in an attempt to shift her mood, "Although I did 'ave to endure a good deal of teasing because you are English."

At least with her you're allowed to play a little around that particular landmine, right?

You hold your breath, waiting for her reaction, and then Hermione slaps your hand away playfully, "Oh, _really_?"

Yup, right. A few scraping noises come from the cabin, and it seems chairs are being moved.

Relieved and chuckling, you step back and seek out the quiver to set all the arrows orderly inside. The brunette stays at your side. "Do not worry too much, 'Ermione. She was more excited zan anything else. And also a bit disappointed zat I 'ad not told 'er, yet. Zat is why I am saying all zis, so you can zink about it before your friends find out by zemselves. It will be best to plan ahead what to say zan to be caught by surprise, non?"

She nods, "Thanks. I'll have to figure it out."

All heads turn around when you hear Hagrid's door swinging open and you stroll together to the spot close to the trail of torches. The boys soon join you, and then the Veela quietly step out, closing the door behind them. Sadly, there's no sign of the half-giant.

The Triad stops midway in the trail outside the cabin and remains in conference. From your position, you have a view of Anca and Katalin's profiles, while Hestia is directly facing you. It's enough for you to follow their interactions.

The younger two speak in turns, clearly arguing with each other and defending their opposing positions to the Elder. You notice Hestia is less vocal and pauses on occasion to oddly massage her face, which plays well to Katalin's outspoken approach. Anca is calmer and more patient, listening and choosing her words slowly, sometimes gesturing in the direction of the cabin, and at other times glancing at your small group.

A soft breeze helps the Veela's voices carry enough that you pick up broken parts of the conversation, though they're too jumbled to make any sense. With your curiosity positively stirred, you make an effort to listen in.

Especially since whatever the Elder is saying just made Hestia nearly gape and twisted Katalin's features into an intrigued frown. The Sentinel looks at your group and soon finds your stare. Her frown creases further. And then she turns back to argue directly with Anca, shaking her head.

Unfortunately, Ronald chooses that very moment to start idle chatting. "That Healer is too quiet. I don't see her smile like the others, either. She only smiled at Fleur."

You try to block out his voice and focus on the Veela, but then Harry joins in, "Yeah, Hestia is more collected."

"She looks anxious, to me," the redhead continues.

His friend stays right on track, "Maybe she isn't used to leaving the woods."

Unable to hear the Veela anymore now, you stay silent and ignore the students, keeping your stare locked on them. Whatever is going on, it seems to be important.

"Are they speaking Veelish?" Ronald asks.

You turn in surprise to frown at the boy. That does it for you. "Zere is no such zing as zat, Ronald. 'Veelish' is nonsense made up by a wizard who wrote a very unreliable book on Veela. Zey are speaking ze language of ze Ancients, ze primary beings to live in ze enchanted woods. Now we all use it, fairies, centaurs, nymphs, forest-elves, not only Veela. Goblins maintain strict trade agreements wiz us, so zey are familiar wiz it, too."

"That's all new to me." Hermione looks taken aback for a while, and then she frowns, "Aren't fairies incapable of speech?"

"Non, zat is a wrong belief. Wizards do not usually learn uzzer magical languages, not even Gobbledegook to speak to zose zat take care of zeir banking and currency needs. Most do not even know ze old language exists, so zey cannot recognize it. And ze unique zing about fairies is zat zey speak very fast and only in Torrevean," you tilt your head at the Veela, making known the name of that language, "so wizards assume zey are 'umming, not talking. It became a widespread notion zat ze small creatures could not use communicate wiz uzzer races."

You're still talking to the trio when the Veela approach again. The pressure on your charms starts to build and you set your measures to counter that. They listen to the last of your words quietly, until you spin in their direction when you're done.

Hestia is awkwardly moving her jaw now. Anca notices all of you watching the display in amusement and she pats the Healer's shoulder kindly, "Please, don't concern yourselves over Hestia. She is one of our latest arrivals at the village. There wasn't an opportunity to acquaint her with a few details, such as the particulars of Hagrid's cooking. The boar casserole was delightful. But his, ah, rock cake, was it?" she glances at Katalin for confirmation, which the Sentinel promptly gives while striving to hold her quirking lips in a thin, neutral line. "Yes. Well, her first taste of one of his rock cakes was... Oh, how should I say it?"

"Unforgettable," Hestia murmurs, glancing back at Hagrid's door. And the more quiet Veela, in a rare moment of fluent curiosity, turns to the young Gryffindors and asks, "Is that how British wizards usually-"

"No!" the three students quickly answer almost in unison, startling the Healer into a stunned expression.

In a calmer way, Harry grins at Hestia and tries to explain, "That's Hagrid. Only Hagrid. I don't know much about wizards and cooking, but Hagrid is, erm, a unique type of cook."

Anca and Katalin share a smile, while the Healer finally starts to relax, attempting a small smile, too.

Taking advantage of the small interval, you step forward to offer Katalin her things and add, "I left ze bag next to your cloaks."

"Thank you." Katalin takes the bow and carefully looks at the quiver, checking the number of arrows left. As the one in charge of guarding the Triad, this is much needed piece of information, just in case there's danger on the way back. The type of danger that may require something other than magic to be thwarted.

The Sentinel arranges the sheaf at her back, swinging it over her left shoulder, before talking to you, "Not even one, Fleur? We carry more with us. It wouldn't be a waste. What stopped you?"

You tilt your head, "I said you did not know me." After all, there's no reason to tell her how close you were to shooting at least one arrow before Hermione showed up.

Her stare burns into you, and Katalin rubs her chin thoughtfully, sizing you up.

In an insightful move, Hermione rips through the awkward silence and sets the conversation on the right course, "So, uhm, what can you tell us about Hagrid?"

"Yes, Hagrid," Anca starts. "He is under a great deal of distress. It is a delicate situation. He told us of these past weeks, the time since we last saw him. The events that started after the Yule Ball shook his self-confidence. It seems he regards as relevant the social opinion on his mixed blood."

Harry takes a look at each Veela before settling on Anca, "But is he alright?"

"He has seen better days, Mr. Potter," the Elder replies. "Hagrid is a great man with the heart of a child. He is not too different from the teenager that one day walked into our village, when he was a student here. Even then, handling slander was not one of his strengths. He told us you know what happened to him. It cost him his wand. Now, he fears this will cost him his job."

"But we know the truth," he replies in earnest, raising his voice. "He was innocent. Hagrid is not the monster this… this _woman_," the word drops from his mouth as something rancid and vile, "wrote him to be."

Anca nods and smiles sadly, "We are aware of that, Mr. Potter. Hagrid's innocence was never in question to us. And he certainly is not a monster. The newspaper article was outrageous."

Hestia looks gravely at the younger students, "Can this reporter give him more trouble?"

"We don't know," the ginger responds quickly, shrugging.

"The woman is unpredictable," Hermione complements at a calmer pace. "She's been writing all sorts of nasty stuff since the Triwizard Tournament began. If she finds a better target, she'll move away from Hagrid instantly."

Katalin glances at the cabin, "He's pretty much isolated in his home now. I doubt she'll have more to say about him for a while."

"Won't he see us?" Harry starts again, in a pleading tone. "We really want to talk to him."

Anca's voice becomes even softer as she looks at the worried boy, "Tonight is too soon for Hagrid, Mr. Potter. Give him more time. I also suggest your attempts to talk to him do not cease. He has been a loner most of his life. It is in moments such as this that he needs to feel his friends closer than ever."

Hermione squeezes Harrys's hand in encouragement, and then turns to Anca, "Are you going to help him, too?"

"For as long as he needs us, Miss Granger. Hagrid is our friend as well," the Elder declares, smiling pleasantly. "He is particularly defying to us, I admit. Hagrid does not accept too much sympathy, as he mistakes it for pity. We cannot establish a proper empathy bond because his giant blood repels it. The most effective approach for him appears to be a combination of potions, support and counseling. Unfortunately, it's the one that takes longer to achieve results."

"How long? He's missed classes since Monday. There are rumors going on, from people that want him sacked. He has to come back soon," the anguish in Harry's voice is undeniable. It makes your heart clench for the boy.

"Well, there was some progress, already," Anca replies soothingly. "An honest conversation always unburdens the soul. Hagrid also allowed Hestia to pour him a sample of her special brew. It will help with his emotional stability. He required a very high dose to experience any effects, but it calmed him well into a deep sleep. We believe he will show marked improvement in a week. And with a few more visits, Hagrid should be back to his regular self."

"There'll be more visits?" Ronald asks hopefully.

"Yes, we will return to see Hagrid other times," Anca reassures him, and then turns to Harry. "I would be delighted to share memories of your father and his friends in our next meeting, Mr. Potter. Hagrid will likely enjoy your presence, as well as hearing those stories."

The smile on Harry's face couldn't be brighter, "I'd like that."

Ron elbows him squarely in the ribs.

"_Ouch_," the champion whimpers. "Er, can I bring my friends?"

"By all means, but let's keep this only between us. Our no-interference policy has been sufficiently damaged to last our stay at Hogwarts, I think," she answers with a smile that extends to all the Gryffindors. "We will contact Albus to inform him of each visit."

Hestia speaks in a low and respectful tone, "It is a pity that the Headmaster was busy tonight. Our report on Hagrid's status will be sent to him by post. Maybe in a future visit he will be able to meet us."

Anca nods quietly. With a deep sigh, she straightens up in a very solemn posture and her stare seeks you out, "Our meeting is reaching an end. But we cannot leave without thanking you, Fleur, in our own way. Your actions brought us here, to care for a dear friend. He was very pleased to receive our visit."

You start to shake your head, but she raises a hand and you can only remain still and give in.

"It has come to our attention your current transition. One last change to turn you into the adult you will be," she observes.

"So it is," you confirm.

"This is not a time for you to be alone, far from your family, far from other Veela. You want answers, you will need assistance," she knows what she's saying. Her words come out as conclusive statements, not questions. "We are the closest to you with the ability to provide that. And we owe you a debt of gratitude. I hope what we have to offer will be to your liking."

A surge of interest keeps your attention glued to the Elder. This is more than you could've hoped for.

"Unfortunately, we cannot spare a companion to see you daily. That would be the best alternative," she says in a disheartened tone. "Nevertheless, you can send for us at the village. Hestia and Katalin volunteered to pay you a visit whenever you make a request. And every time we travel to visit Hagrid, I have asked Katalin to spend those meetings with you, instead, since you seem to get along nicely. She has accepted, of course, provided you agree as well."

And that's when your gut jolts painfully.

You chew your lip while you plan out what to say. To decline such a generous offer made by an Elder and concerning Katalin, of all Veela, would be preposterous. On the other hand, you can imagine the state of Hermione's mood and how this will inflate the Veela's ego if you agree.

You lock stares with Katalin. Might as well be locking horns. A clash of something... maybe wills, minds, perhaps opposing natures or temperaments... just something, slowly undermines your previously good mood. And then that small smirk is dangling in front of you. Definitely, she rubs you the wrong way.

Closing your eyes, you breathe a few times. Slowly. Feeling the flow of air first fill, and then leave your body.

There's no way out of this without being the rude one, so it's time to face the music. Steeling yourself, you open your eyes again and pump out flatly, "Non. I zank you for ze very kind offer, but I can 'andle by myself until I return 'ome. It will only be a few months, and zen my family can 'elp me."

That smile, small as it is, quickly withers away, giving place to an expression of open disbelief, tinted by cold hurt. Hestia spares you a glance that lasts less than a blink and seems more concerned about the discomfort of her patrol partner. Anca, however, looks decidedly thrown off by your words and you almost flinch under her analytical gaze.

_Almost_. This isn't a good moment to send mixed messages about your decision, so you stay impassive and quiet, as cold and detached as you can. And you wait for the slowly stewing reaction that's about to come.

Anca is the one to recover faster and she starts to argue, "Fleur, please reconsider. There will be consequences if you lose control over your charms."

"It will not 'appen, Anca," you reply firmly.

"But it might, Fleur. Can't you see the risks?" Katalin jumps in.

You only shake your head.

"There is much at stake. You did a good job with your charms at the village, but we are unsure if that was a strike of luck or your natural restraints," the Elder explains. "Emotional balance is a very complex task in your condition. You attend a school of human students. They can fall under the effects of unrestrained charms. An event of those proportions may damage the relations between wizards and Veela. The very agreement to our existence in the Forbidden Forest could be revoked for that reason. It cannot be allowed to happen, child. And your charms, in particular, seem to be very strong. My companions tell me they have developed considerably since Monday."

"I apologize for insisting. I answer to my muzzer or, in 'er absence, to uzzer Veela from ze Delacour Clan. You are very recent acquaintances and I cannot agree to zis proposition," you reply slowly. "'Agrid needs 'elp and all you can do for 'im is welcome, but I neither ask nor want anything for myself. Zis would only distract you from your affairs."

Anca intervenes again, "Fleur, don't be hasty in making your decision. Katalin means only to help."

The Sentinel adds with a sad smile, "This is a mistake, Fleur, a very naive mistake. The unexpected happens. Anything that affects you enough will set off an emotional outburst. You're underestimating life."

"I 'ave been making progress on my own," you say to her. "I sincerely ask you to trust me enough to know what I am doing."

Anca tries to speak again, but Katalin touches her shoulder and shakes her head at her, "Fleur has made her choice known. More arguments would only challenge her will."

The Sentinel then looks at you, "These meetings are necessary. We'll be crossing the woods to be here for Hagrid, anyway. I don't deny my interest in talking to someone with a different perspective on things. You are intriguing. The offer stands. Please think about it at a later moment. We will see you again."

Your eyes narrow at her words, but you incline your head as she does the same to you.

"We should prepare to leave," Katalin says, pointedly looking at Hestia. "It'll be a dark night in the woods."

The conversation leaves unsettling aftereffects and you sigh. Hermione will have more to say on this, you're sure.

They walk to the unicorns and Anca picks up the travel cloak to wrap around her shoulders. Katalin and Hestia take off their belts and start to rummage through what can only be concealed pouches in them, soon pulling out a few things from their search. A complex bit of magic later, Katalin is changed in her full Warrior outfit, while Hestia sports a black scouting uniform. They shrink their ceremonial robes and carefully place those in the belts.

Your edgy thoughts drift to your previous topic of conversation and a spark of realization lights up somewhere in your brain. Anca. You turn to look at the Elder. Of course, how could you've missed this entirely? Katalin didn't know about Hermione and you, that's why her behavior towards you was so forward all night, right in front of the brunette. But Anca is a completely different scenario. She knows about Hermione. After her initial interaction with you, Anca has to know.

So as Hestia and Katalin fix their boots and tie up bracers over their forearms, you slowly stride to the Elder.

"Yes, child?" she asks calmly.

"Anca, you know why I turned her down," you say, not filtering an apologetic tone from your voice.

She is overlooking as Katalin straps the sword at her waist, and then sets cloak and quiver over her shoulders. "Do I, Fleur?"

"Oui, you do. You _really_ do," you reply with emphasis. "Please, make 'er understand."

Anca's stare digs into yours, and then shifts to the spot where the students remained, quietly wrapping her thoughts over what you're implying. She tilts her head, "You should tell her yourself. It would be better that way. You know that, don't you?"

"Not now, I cannot," your voice is no more than a whisper. You quickly glance at the Gryffindors, making sure they are still out of range.

She nods, patiently, "If you say so."

Hestia restores her shrunken set of bow and sheaf to regular dimensions and Katalin helps her set the final details in order.

"I 'ave personal reasons involved, but I still do not wish for problems," you reason.

Anca smiles at you, "She is not like that, Fleur. There is more to Katalin than you think."

Your eyes find the Sentinel at Hestia's side, "I know."

"No, I believe you don't," she answers with a slow shake of her head.

Katalin and Hestia, finally ready, approach you, too. Their curious stares barely check Anca and quickly return to you.

"I just remembered I wanted to warn you. When you were in ze cabin, I sensed an unpleasant stench in ze forest," you tell them.

Anca's features become serious and she inquires in a new stern tone, "Did you recognize it? Can you tell what it was?"

"Non, Anca. It was very faint and reminded me of something rotting. I only felt it once, and zen zere was no more 'int of it in ze wind," you explain.

From the look on their faces, they don't underestimate anything within the woods.

Katalin's calm demeanor changes into a more concerned version, "Do you remember where it came from?"

"Zere," you say, pointing in the correct direction, "ze wind brought it from zere."

Anca turns to Katalin, "What do you think?"

"I asked all patrolling teams to be especially careful around this area during the day. The reports were clear. Nothing strange was seen," the Sentinel states.

She glances at you, "We talked to the last team on our way here. This scent can only mean something new. It had to happen after sundown."

"But nothing could rot in such little time, particularly in these low temperatures," Hestia argues somberly. "I didn't feel anything when we arrived. I'm still not picking up any scents now."

Katalin nods and addresses the Elder, "You know what that means, Anca. Whatever the source, it's moving or being moved through the woods."

The Elder sighs, "We cannot stay, Katalin. The village needs us back."

"You know I will follow, Anca. I will always follow your lead. The decision is yours," Katalin replies quietly. "Hestia and I never found a threat this side of the wards that couldn't be parried. But we're not alone this time. Your safety has to be considered, too."

"I am ready to accept the odds. Duty should always be a priority. Our duty is to go home," Anca replies. Her voice then becomes a little less constricted, "Don't forget we ride unicorns. There's nothing faster in this forest."

"Very well, you have reached a decision. Home it is. We are taking over from here, Anca. You will ride in the middle." Katalin allows no room for argument as she arches an eyebrow, "Hestia?"

"I'll take the rear, Katalin," is the swift answer, as the Healer falls in sync with her partner.

"Keep your senses on alert," Katalin directs.

Anca strolls to the students and you all follow suit.

The Elder looks at each of the students with a warm expression and nods at them, "This was a long stay, much longer than we had planned. The village awaits our return. Be cheerful, for your friend will be better faster than you expect. It was a true pleasure to meet all of you. We wish you a good night. And it is our hope to see you again soon."

Hestia and Katalin bow at either of her sides and the students repeat the gesture, expressing their gratitude for the visit and saying their good nights as well.

The unicorns realize there's finally going to be some action and pace closer. The Veela approach you and each one takes turns holding your hands silently. At last, they head to their mounts, settle on their backs and pull the hoods over their heads.

Anca addresses you all, "May your homes be warm."

"And your ride be safe," you offer. "Please, send word to let us know you arrived well."

"We will," Katalin replies with a broad smile and a last wink your way, as her unicorn paws anxiously, all too eager to spring through the trees.

A last wave of their hands in farewell and their mounts trot into the forest at an impressive speed. In little time, they are far enough that you can't hear the soft pounding of hooves anymore.

You remove your gloves, grip your wand and start to put out the trail of torches, while Hermione takes cares of the bluebell flames.

"We should turn in for ze night," you say when there's no sign left of even the smallest spark.

It becomes very clear how dark it is now and you all keep the tip of your wands alight.

"I will accompany you to ze courtyard," you tell them, already marching to the castle.

You all walk side by side at first, but the path is uneven and narrows down at times, so you soon split in pairs. The boys take the lead, brandishing their wands around to cast funny shadows, while starting to recite what they call 'the Veela's best moments'. It would be amusing to hear, you're sure, but Hermione strides closer to you and the thought leaves your mind.

The brunette doesn't waste time to pick up where you think she would, "Why did it take you that long to tell Katalin off? You hesitated, Fleur."

There's no getting out of that one. "Oui, I did," you confirm.

Her tone reflects her dissatisfaction, "Why? If you're having second th-"

"I am not," you assure her quickly. "Please, do not go zere. I did not want to accept 'er offer, but I did stop for some 'ard zinking. Zey do not know about you and me, so in zeir minds I turned Katalin down because I did not want 'er company. It was considered... _rude_. Very rude."

"Why would it be rude? You were polite. And you're allowed to choose who spends time with you," she says, frowning. "Right?"

You think about that, sighing, "Hmmm... Oui, I am, normally. But Katalin is not simply like any uzzer option to consider for company. Saying 'no' to 'er like zat can start an incident between our Clans. I will write to my muzzer and explain everything. Perhaps she 'as some advice on zis. "

Her frown becomes more pronounced, "She still left with a smirk."

"I noticed." Obviously. How could anyone not notice that? You recall Katalin's expression, "She took it as a challenge."

"But there's nothing she can do about it," she says, and you see that look that tells her brain is hard at work. "Unless... Can she force you to meet her?"

"Non, of course not. She 'as no power over me," you remark categorically.

Hermione remains silent for some time, walking and glancing at you. She finally asks in concern, "What is it, Fleur? You keep looking back."

You hadn't even realized you were staring over your shoulder every once in a while. At her tone, Harry and Ronald turn to listen in. The path just became wider now that the bridge comes into view, so the boys stroll at her friend's side again.

"I am worried," you reply.

"They know the woods, don't they?" Harry's tone makes the question sound rhetorical.

"Oui, zey must know zis forest well," you state. "But if zey were worried, zen so am I. Zere are few zings in ze woods zat are dangerous enough to worry a Veela. And I do not like any of zem."

Ronald suddenly stops walking and his eyes turn wide as saucers as he grabs Harry's sleeve, "Do you think..."

Everyone stops to look at him. The redhead gulps before continuing in a horrified whisper, "Acromantulas?"

You look at him in absolute surprise, "Acromantulas? Zere are _Acromantulas_ in ze Forbidden Forest?"

Harry nods at you, trying to haul his friend back into walking.

"Are you sure? 'Ere?" you ask, unable to believe him. "'Ow do you know zat?"

"We went after them in our second year. There's a huge colony of them, in the forest," he replies.

"You were zere, too?" you ask Hermione.

The champion clarifies, "No, Mione was petrified by the basilisk."

"You were _petrified_?" you turn to Hermione in a rush of anxiety and the girl winces at your tone. And then your brain hits a wall. "But basilisks do not petrify. Zey are fatal."

"Mione is a genius, a total genius. She figured out it was a basilisk attacking the school," Ronald finds his voice again. "So instead of looking straight at it, she used a mirror."

"Oh," is all you manage to say, your eyebrows still out of their usual place. Okay, the brunette will have a lot of sharing to do later.

This is definitely going to be an interesting weekend.

Hermione reaches for your arm, "Do you think it could be the Acromantulas?"

"It might be," you answer without a drop of conviction. Acromantulas like their prey to be fresh. Anything already rotting is way out of their preferred menu.

You continue in silence now, each one engaged in their own private thoughts. When you're closing in on the castle, you spot your friends straight ahead and walking in the opposite direction, back to the carriage. They're all seniors and allowed to stay late. Considering the hour, you hope Harry brought his special cloak to help them get safely back to their Common Room.

"Zose are my companions, ahead," you speak to your small group and they look up, noticing the approaching gang.

The Gryffindors seem to become quite self-conscious under the curious stares of the seventh-year girls, but they make the effort to look friendly. Alix gives you a pointed look and an ill-concealed smirk.

You roll your eyes and say your farewells to the younger students. At least now you'll have company to return. Still, your eyes follow the trio while your friends wait patiently, giggling about something you're oblivious about.

They reach the first courtyard uneventfully. In a moment the Gryffindors are there, in the next they can't be seen anymore. It looks like they did have the cloak with them. You smile and turn to leave.

"Ah! You're finally with us now," Alix says in mock complaint at your side.

"I only wanted to make sure they arrived well," you reply, not taking the bait.

"Mmmm," she hums, far less interested now. And then she looks at you slowly, from boots to cloak, "Haven't seen you wearing that in a while. Jungle wear, uhm? Trying to impress someone?"

"_Hilarious_, Alix," you reply with the right dose of sarcasm to make her chuckle. "At least I'm warm."

"That was a low blow," she grouses, bumping into your shoulder, while you enjoy some chuckling now.

Reva, a shorter and lean brunette right in front of Alix heard you too, "Don't remind me, Fleur. My wand will be casting warming charms by itself before the end of the month."

A few approving groans around you say it all.

"What were you doing with those kids, anyway?" Reva asks.

"I met them outside Professor 'Agrid's cabin," you explain. "They were going back to the castle and I offered to keep them company."

"It was the Potter boy, wasn't it?" Félicie's voice comes from behind you and you almost turn around in surprise.

When did they change places? You're now pretty much surrounded by the group of girls.

"And his two friends," you add slowly, agreeing with caution.

"Oh, so _that_ was Miss Granger?" Reva innocently reveals the question that you can guess is on everyone's minds.

You stop in your tracks and narrow your eyes, glaring around. The subject is dropped on the spot and Alix pulls you by the arm to resume walking. Good. At least your friends are sensible enough not to start round two.

The tight pack around you disbands and changes positions again, now that you're no longer the best source of entertainment. You nearly roll your eyes at them all.

"What about you, Cora?" Alix changes the subject. "We all missed out on that last bit of _supervision_ Yvonne was unleashing on you tonight. How was that?"

Everyone chuckles and the black-haired girl snorts playfully, "Annoying, self-centered, temperamental, petulant, obnoxious, exasperating, pompous, ludicrous, nerve-grinding, arrogant, bothersome, infuriating, uhm, among other things. Is that enough or do you want me to continue? I can go on."

"I didn't know your vocabulary included so many long words," Félicie teases, and muffled giggling sprouts here and there. "English girls have that effect on you now?"

"No more jokes about the English," Cora says dramatically, throwing her hands up. Bursts of laughter erupt from everyone and the girl herself joins in. "Yes, yes, laugh while you can. But one more of those jokes and there'll be serious hexing going on."

The carriage comes into sight and your eyes once again make it to Hagrid's home, taking in the clearing in front of it. The girls fall back into easy chatting and light-hearted chuckles. You sneak a glance at Cora, and catch her looking at the castle with a serious expression.

You have a growing temptation to strike up a conversation about her worried look, which is temporarily forgotten when Reva trips on a stone and sends her books flying all over the place. She would have landed painfully on her knees if Félicie didn't catch her in time.

Quietly, everyone pitches in to summon and clean up her books, all of you knowing her well enough not to trust them back to their owner. Alix helps steady her too and the two taller girls walk the rest of the way to the carriage flanking their petite accident-prone friend.

"Not even one good thing about her? That's so not you," you say, walking by Cora's side now.

"There was just the one," she retorts. "Yvonne shook those Krum maniacs off your back. But then, next thing you know, she goes and ruins your potion."

"Huh..." you spin around to look her in the eyes. "I'm sorry for bursting your bubble, Cora, but Yvonne didn't ruin the potion. I did."

"You? Ha, no way, Fleur," her gray eyes almost shut as she chuckles with might. "I know how you work. We've prepared potions together lots of times. My disagreement with Yvonne started with that infamous joke. But after the class, the potion thing was all it was really about."

She gives you an odd look, "And what's this you're doing? Come on, now. She was nice to you and all, but I'm your friend. You don't have to take the blame for her."

"No, Cora, you really got it wrong," you say slowly, trying to make her understand. "That disaster was my fault."

She watches your face carefully for any traces of a smile, still certain you're kidding. When she sees none, her eyebrows start to disappear under her bangs. "For real?"

"I never knew you trusted me so much in potions. What a disappointment I must be to you now, hmm?" you reply, feeling terrible.

She holds your arm and stops you from walking further, "What happened?"

Your head hangs down and you sigh, "I left my lunch on the table, and then I asked Yvonne to put the last ingredient in the cauldron. It's not too hard to work out the logistics."

"Oh, no. This has to be a bad joke." Cora groans loudly, her eyes still wide in dread, "So now I owe her an apology?"

"I think so," you answer in a feeble voice. "If you care to be on good terms with her, that is."

"No, no, no, no. This can't be. After all I said to her, I'll have to go on my knees from the Potions classroom to the Ravenclaw Tower to get her to forgive me," she says. "_If_ she ever forgives me."

You wince.

"And here I was, expecting her to apologize to me," she continues absentmindedly, probably speaking to herself.

The group has reached the carriage and Reva works on the wards. The girls slowly file in.

Before you have a chance to do the same, Cora rounds up on you, "Can you guess what I want to say to you right now?"

You raise your hands defensively in front of you, "No supervision, please. Save that for Yvonne."

Her angry face finally breaks out in a small grin and she laughs a little, "I sure will."

She shakes her head as you both step into the warmth of the familiar environment. "My, my, how am I ever going to make this right? Fleur, you're awful."

"But I'm still a decent friend," you offer with an innocent look, taking your cloak off. "If there's anything I can do, just tell me and I will help."

The girls are quickly taking over the place, laying down books, sitting down and rubbing their hands close to the fireplace.

"You bet I will. You'll have to make it up to me," she replies with an evil smile, already striding away and waving good-byes all over.

You seek out Alix, warning her you'll probably sleep through the morning and not to expect to see you out of your room before lunch time. Though she has permission to bring down the door if you don't make an appearance by then.

Swiftly, you wish everyone a good night and walk to your room. As soon as the door is closed, your brain goes on autopilot.

You barely register setting your wand down, clothes flying all over the place, hugging a scarlet-and-gold scarf tightly, and then somehow flumping on the bed.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Hello, everyone. I know, time has really flown away since the last update. Don't worry, though, the story is far from over or being abandoned. Some might be upset about the delay, and I understand that, but I needed the long break and some family time, too.

Many, many fuzzy thanks to all that read, reviewed, or made your presence known, one way or another. Some of you raised very interesting questions that will come up down the road. Also, I usually answer every review and PMs (except anons, which I can't), but this time I didn't follow through. Around mid-November there were personal complications and I went into full shutdown from fanfiction. I will correct that, as soon as I'm back on track. However, it will take a while.

Dialogue in italics is intended for the language used by Veela (very little in this chapter).

* * *

><p>Chapter 10.<p>

The last black and white frames disintegrate, withering slowly into a blank, but still faster than you can commit them to memory. You're left in a peaceful state, enveloped in comforting darkness and silence.

That must've been a good dream.

Your brain starts a lukewarm debate on the need to wake from slumber, when the choice is removed from your hands.

In a short sequence, you vaguely register soft tapping sounds.

Rather curious, but mostly distant and ignorable.

They fade away.

Blissful silence again.

You smile. Or, at least, you think you do.

But then, there it is again.

The rhythmic disturbance is back. Only now it's gone from gentle drumming to loud hammering.

And getting annoyingly louder by the second.

The noise drills right through the brittle shell of unconsciousness and starts to prod your brain. Insistently. Deliberately.

When you can't ignore it anymore, you open only one eye and take an unwilling peek around. Yup, someone's knocking heavily on the door.

You roll on your side and your hand fumbles around for your wand, but you don't reach it. In fact, you can't even remember where you left it last night.

A muffled voice filters through the door, carrying Alix's unmistakable liveliness, "Wake up, Fleur. You're going to be late!"

"Leave me be," you complain groggily, closing your eye again.

A click from the door and your friend steps into the room, "I can't believe you still use the same locking spell on your door. Our champion should do bet-"

"I vow to change it today," you mumble, lifting a finger off the bed for a bit, and then letting your hand fall down limply on the sheets.

As the silence unusually lingers, you're curious enough to open both eyes and look at your friend.

Alix is standing stock-still at the entrance of your room, wearing both a frown _and_ a gape, "When did your room get in this state?"

You groan. It seems she's intent on not going away.

Giving up, you finally sit and stretch, "What do you mean?"

"Look around!" she exclaims in a concerned tone. "Did you conjure a _hurricane_ in here?"

Reva's head sneaks over Alix's shoulder, a task only made possible when the girl stands on her toes. "Are you okay, Fleur?" she asks in a small voice, stepping around the taller girl for a better view.

"Good morning, Reva," you acknowledge the brunette's presence. "I'll clean up soon. Alix must be in one of those moods, making a big fuss out of anything."

The smaller girl shrugs, watching around in every direction, "I don't know about that, Fleur. It really looks like you were hexing everything in sight. Do you want help?"

"No, it's fine. Thank you," you reply, and the girl nods, turning to leave.

Right then, you notice her hands are cradling a mug of hot coffee. The invigorating aroma alone is more effective to make you want to jump out of bed and get started with the day than anything Alix has tried.

Remembering how long it's been since your last meal, you perk up at the possibility there might still be some of the fresh brew in the kitchen.

"I waited as much as I could to wake you, Fleur," Alix explains calmly. "You'll be happy to know that Cora is now a firm believer that you hadn't slept the night before."

You snort.

"Aren't you an inspiration today?" she replies with a smile and sarcasm to spare, sidestepping the many items on the floor to make it to the window and pull back the curtains. The sudden inflow of light makes you look away and cover your eyes.

"Seriously," Alix says, both hands on her hips and a warning glare aimed at you, "I don't want to be anywhere near your room if Madame Maxime walks in to the sight of _this_."

"You could start by being less loud about it, Alix. I promise I am going to take care of everything as soon as the rest of my brain wakes up," you reply, rubbing your eyes and holding in a yawn.

"Well, you better. There's a glove hanging from that painting. And the mud pooling around your boots," she says with a disagreeable face, "is _not_ charming. Goodness, how did you get unicorn hair all over the room?" Her stare returns to you, "You know what? I don't want to hear it, Fleur. Just get up and do something."

The yawn finally breaks free, but when you open your eyes again, Alix is bent forward in front of you, almost nose to nose. Your eyes snap wide open in surprise and you jolt backwards.

"Right. Now." The determination in her voice is sharp as a razor.

"Always the old couple," Cora smirks from the door and you roll your eyes. "The girls are calling you, Alix. We're on that part of Charms that you wanted to double-check."

"I'm on my way," she chants back, but the other girl is already gone. Alix looks you up and down, then frowns, "What's wrong with your hair?"

"Nothing, why?" you retort, a bit self-consciously under her weird gaze.

"It's…" she pauses, canting her head, "it's a wild riot. It looks like there's a nest on your head."

You move your hand to ruffle soft strands... and your fingers painfully lock in a web of knotty confusion, making you wince.

Okay, now you're fully awake. At least enough to rise from the mattress, lurch a little with a limp, and take a look around.

No wonder Alix thought your room was a mess. It's not only about your scattered clothes from last night. The duvet is across the room, the sheets are looped twice around your right leg, Hermione's scarf ended on top of the trunk, the pillow is on the wrong side of the bed and your pyjamas look like you fought a battle in them.

Scratching your head until you need to stop from inadvertently pulling more hair again, you try to make heads or tails out of this, thinking back about any strange happenings since going to bed.

No, nothing comes to mind. You were sound asleep all night, and the way you feel rested is good proof of that.

After a careful roll of the neck, you ask her, "What time is it?"

"Eleven," she replies simply.

You consider that for a while.

"It's too early," you finally remark and pull your pillow in position, already lying down. "Wake me up again in half an hour, please."

"No, you don't get any more sleep," she stops you with an inflexible tone. "I've done all the math, girl. We'll only make it in time for lunch if you start getting ready now."

"That's not true. I shower and change really fast," you protest, looking at your bed with longing.

She crosses her arms, "I know, but Madame Maxime wants to talk to you before lunch."

"Oh..." That gets your attention and you forget about the bed. For now.

"Why?"

"We're curious, too," and all you get is a shrug out of her as she walks to the door. "So straighten up your things, dress up, go to her office and you can tell us all about it on the way to lunch."

You groan.

"Such finesse today, Fleur," Alix's smirk is a straight poke to your ego. "Maybe you need to be around Cora more often. You know, learn some of those big words she's been saying."

She barely ducks in time to avoid a flying pillow on her way out. Laughing as she goes. Of course.

Locking the door with a smile that she didn't get to see, you take your wand and start to tidy the mess. In little under five minutes, your room is spick and span. The bed is made with clean sheets and a different duvet, Hermione's impeccable scarf is on your pillows, the jumbled pile of clothes is sorted to be washed, and there isn't a single trace of dirt in sight. You remember to retrieve a small chain from one of the special compartments of the trunk, and then the large case is locked and safely tuck under your bed.

Definitely, nothing compares to magic. Fully content at the perfectly restored order, you are ready for the next step.

A complete sample of your uniform is out of the closet and spread neatly on the bed before you take off for the bathroom. You get started with the shower, feeling a few protests from thighs and back, but the overall stiffness is not that bad. After spending a good part of the previous night crouching down, then standing up and repeating the cycle for a long time, you expected unused muscles to complain a lot more than they are.

Finally, you focus on your bad case of unkempt hair, and choose a good set of shampoo and conditioner to help. Water alone is usually effective to straighten it out, so you allow plenty of the hot liquid to soothe a way through the strands and down your back. Gathering a larger serving of shampoo than needed for regular days, you start to wash it slowly, noticing unhappily that the knots were not undone.

Sighing, you loosen the strands out of their clumps, raking patient fingers from the roots down to the tips, over and over again under the flowing water, until they are docile at last.

When you're done and reaching for the conditioner, you look at your hands and gasp in surprise. Loose hair strands are tangled all over your fingers. And there are more left in the tub, too.

You stare in confusion. This isn't normal. Since you were little, shedding has always been very scarce, nowhere near what just happened.

Did any of your mother's books say something about this? Frowning, you try to recall the memories of the correct chapters in each of them, skimming through images of random pages to see if it gives your brain a boost. Unfortunately, it doesn't. You can't remember anything like this in the parts you read. And Hermione has the main book on physiology, now.

Bundling the remains in a corner, you proceed with the hair conditioner, only to find more of the light-golden evidence on your hands when it's over. Staying calm, you turn the water off, pick up the towel and take care of the moisture on your skin. A spell later and your hair is also dried.

You brush your teeth and comb your hair slowly, avoiding any drastic pulling and tugging, but despite the careful attempt, other stray strands are caught up in the process anyway. Even more surprisingly, no matter how much you comb and stroke, your hair won't stay put. It looks... bulkier. A little head shaking and it waves a lot more than it should.

After a resigned shrug, you go to the bedroom to get dressed, still feeling the tresses in motion.

And then you stop, halfway to the bed.

A few minutes drag and you only wait. The soft tickling against your neck continues. Frowning again, you slowly return to the mirror in the bathroom.

That's where you stay, watching your reflection in wonderment and disbelief. This shouldn't be. No, scratch that. The single reason to believe it's happening is that you're seeing it for yourself.

You tie your hands around your hair, close to your nape, constricting it tightly, and then glide them all the way down, forcing the wisps into a thin cord.

When you let go, the strands slowly start to gain more volume again, waving slightly by themselves, though the window is closed and the air is completely still around you.

The effect is subtle, nowhere near as pronounced as you saw yesterday for the pure-Veela trio, but it is there, undeniable to anyone who can recognize it.

You shake your head, mesmerized by the sight. Now you _really_ need to get your hands on that book again. And there goes one more thing to run by your mother.

Resisting the urge to ruffle everything wildly, you lock it into a ponytail and watch as it settles and seems to behave a little better. The simple hairdo should do for now.

Anyone paying attention will probably end up thinking that you're flipping your hair more than normal. Great. That should do _wonders_ to your reputation.

You check the time in a hurry and bolt back to the room, getting fully dressed and slipping into your shoes. All the hair-handling already took you too long.

When you're done, you move to your desk. This is not the moment to think about the letter to Gabrielle and it won't hurt to do it properly during the weekend. Your stare turns to the small flask holding that baffling potion.

'My worst achievement in Hogwarts,' you think grimly, swinging it up and down as the pearly liquid sloshes inside. The combination of glass and spell managed to contain it.

Carefully, you shrink the flask to the size of your thumb. Picking up the chain, you tap it once with your wand and wait until the soft glow fades away. Goblin-made to the last detail, you touch a special link at the center of the necklace and wait. It snaps open, and then clasps tightly on contact, as you set it around the most narrow part of the flask, securing the object in position.

Sighing, you fasten the chain around your neck, getting used to the extra weight, both in real and metaphorical senses. This won't give you a chance to forget about that haunting class. The unique goblin enchantment makes it impossible for anyone else to see or touch the flask. Not even by magic can it be revealed.

You collect the dirty clothes in a small laundry bag with your name tag and pull the drawstring tightly. A last look around confirms your room would pass with flying marks, even if judged by Madame Maxime's strict criteria. Too bad Alix isn't here to take a look and see _this_ sparkling version, instead of the one she witnessed, minutes ago.

Closing the door, you are now in the long and spacious double-loaded corridor of the students' sleeping quarters. The small flames from the fancy brackets along the way wiggle and sway as you pass them by, reflected on the elegant dark tiling of the granite floor. At every other door there's a white marble bust on either side of the passageway, sitting on a dark fluted pedestal. The sculpted pairs stop chatting as you come into their view, to wish you a good day.

You notice Emeline's door is ajar, but the room turns out to be empty, so you close and lock it properly for her. All the other doors are shut, in the expected wooden palisade usually seen at this hour of the day. Their assigned occupants probably left them considerably earlier. Unlike you, with your crooked sleeping schedule.

After turning two right corners, you go down the marble staircase and land in the middle of the short entrance hallway. To the left, it ends on the door leading outside, but you turn right instead, striding into the octagonal Central Hall.

This is the main room of the carriage, where a domed wooden ceiling arches over the silvery chandelier, sprinkled with a myriad of small candles. The walls are of a creamy color, with a detailed woodwork pilaster on each of the eight corners, stretching from ceiling to floor.

The granite floor is laid out as a wide border of dark brown tiles that surrounds an inner beige area. There's a detailed marble inlay of the Beauxbatons coat of arms at the very center, and an outer ring of small marble medallions featuring fleur-de-lis patterns.

Six of the walls in the hall open into corridors for the other compartments in the ground floor, three to your right and three to your left. The two exceptions are the one connected to the entryway, right at your back now, and the one opposing it, with the built-in fireplace.

It's no surprise to see the dancing flames in the huge stone hearth, the main source of a soft warmth to the common areas of the coach. This has become a permanent occurrence since the day you landed in Scotland. Madame Maxime was adamant about shielding her pupils from the major effects of the cold weather, so the house-elves from Hogwarts assiduously tend to the flames, making sure they never burn down.

Sofas and armchairs are arranged in the space in front of the fire, enough to sit all of the current dwellers and also a few guests, though visitors are really scarce. You find no one in the Hall at the moment.

The sophisticated furniture at first looks uncomfortable and oddly-sized, but it is a delight to relax on and the vast amount of fluffy cushions only adds to the experience. You've spent many late evenings chatting here, until the Headmistress dismissed the group to sleep.

The many portraits adorning the walls, abundantly varied to include a large range of accomplished names, from medieval astronomers to the current national Quidditch team, are all reminders of home. Some of them wave their hands in greeting and you respond with a small nod.

Taking advantage of the walk-through path outlined by the dark granite perimeter, you leave the furniture undisturbed and head for the kitchen, which stems from the farthest of the three corridors at your left, close to the fireplace. It is magically linked to the kitchens of Hogwarts, and always kept well supplied by the house-elves. A small lunch would be quite pleasant now.

On your way, you first pass in front of the corridor to the large main bathroom, then the one to the Practice Room, until you reach and swerve into the third one, your intended corridor. Finding the right door, you open the Utility Room and dispose of the bag of clothes. Hogwarts also takes care of all the laundry of the foreign delegations.

When you're about to make it to the kitchen, you recognize the familiar smell of the beverage you're craving, but it's coming from behind you. Spinning on your heels, you realize the source is somewhere along the direction of the Conference Room. The girls must have taken it with them.

Rolling your eyes to no one in particular, you return to where you started and go the other way around the Hall, now strolling past the corridor to the small library, and finally wind into the passageway for the correct chamber.

Actually, which is now called the unofficial Study Room. It had felt like a waste from the start to let such a convenient space remain locked away without any use, since there weren't any formal meetings or debates expected to happen during your scholarly stay. Therefore, in a rational request, you all talked Madame Maxime into letting you take it over for studying purposes.

The Headmistress bravely resisted the whole of 52 seconds, until your thought-out reasons won her over. Or perhaps it was the combined arguing voices of ten enthusiastic teenagers, plus major pouting and puppy eyes that vanquished her resolve.

You'll probably never know. Even now, the memories still make you smile.

As you're finally lifting your hands to push the very heavy door, it opens at once and you almost crash-land into Alix.

Holding your arms firmly, she takes a step back and looks at you in surprise, "There you are. I thought I'd have to shake you out of that bed again."

"I couldn't resist the coffee," you explain meekly, looking over her shoulder for the source of the tempting aroma.

She laughs and points somewhere into the Study Room, "Sure, you must be famished. Go on and suit yourself, Fleur. We still have some biscuits left."

You nod and wait for the green-eyed girl to guide the way, but she shakes her head, "I have to pick up a book at our library. There's an impasse with the three spells we discussed last week. Remember, from one of the Charms class, back in December? I know I'm right. But I need just the book to convince the girls."

"Okay," you reply and move out of the way for your friend to pass, keeping the door open to enter the room.

Except for the marble and granite bathroom, all the other satellite chambers in the ground level are made of wood, from the parquet flooring, to the panels on the walls, and the beamed high ceilings. This was planned out aiming at an atmosphere of elegant simplicity, with rustic and homey undertones for the tenants' comfort.

The Conference Room, in particular, was built from light-colored yellow birch that doesn't tire the eyes. Two of the three wide windows on the farther wall are open, letting a soft breeze waft in at times, bringing some of the refreshing coolness from outside.

With a glance around, you notice the small group of girls is settled on the long mahogany table, entirely focused on their studies. Only Reva, who is sitting facing the door, lifts her stare to watch as you go.

After a wink and a smile at the petite girl, you find a few coconut biscuits on a small buffet at the other side of the room and fill a mug of very fragrant coffee. In short bites, you clear out three of the treats, enjoying the flavour to the last crumb, then finally walk to the table, sitting down with a generic greeting. "Hello, everyone. Good morning."

Startled heads turn to check you. Stiffening somewhat, you wonder if anyone is going to make a remark about how your hair is defying logic today. To your relief, they only nod and resume their studies.

Cora offers you a sympathetic smile on the spot, "It's good afternoon to you, lazybones."

"Not even _you_ can rile me up today, Cora. I had the most blissful sleep," you say with great satisfaction. Addressing the entire group, you move on to more practical issues, "How's the revision going? Everyone ready for the exams?"

A brief choir of indignant exclamations follows, and then all their faces are already sunk back into books and countless rolls of parchment.

And suddenly it seems quite... odd.

"Why aren't you in the library at 'Ogwarts? Alix went to search for a book in our shelves, but there are many more options at the castle."

Their expressions immediately twist in displeasure, and their answers come out strained.

"Too noisy," is Reva's low excuse.

"Too cold," Lucie offers in a firmer voice, making quick notes on a piece of parchment, and you start to raise an eyebrow.

"Too, uhm, crowded," Félicie is next.

"Not enough boys," is Solenn's last straw, while blowing a few blonde ringlets away from her cheek.

You look from one to the next, carefully sizing up the overall annoyance and irritability, while all the girls are explicitly avoiding your eyes. Even Cora, and _that_ is the weirdest thing.

After a few silent sips of the delicious coffee, you smirk, hiding most of it into the mug, "Madam Pince asked you to leave, then?"

At once, they've forgotten their books and are jumping in to deliver their version of the events, each one speaking a little louder than the one before, flailing their hands and pointing fingers around, as arguments and disagreements bounce back and forth.

Startled, your eyes zigzag from one girl to the other, trying to keep up with the trail of explanations, but in the end the noise just makes you dizzy. It's impossible to understand a single thing.

"Slow down, all of you," you exclaim calmly, standing up and waving your hands up and down, hoping to impose a little order. "One at a time. What is this? What happened?"

The room falls back in a silent state, though the girls are distinctly flustered and very unhappy.

"So unfair. We were discussing Transfiguration," Lucie is the first to speak, rubbing down the length of her long aquiline nose as her nearly black eyes irritably blink too much. "And it was a real discussion. I mean, an in-depth and thorough academic debate, for the sake of learning."

Your eyebrow, now arched at the top of your forehead, is fair evidence that she should provide a better explanation.

Lucie rolls her eyes as if it was obvious, pointing at the girl next to her, "Félicie was in charge."

"Oooh," you reply, in a long drawl, half an octave deeper than normal.

"Yeah, you know," Cora steps in, "Félicie plus Transfiguration equals brain explosion."

Félicie pins a hazel glare on Cora while muffled chuckles break free from some of the other girls.

You smirk. It's time to take care of the rising levels of adrenaline. After a taste of the coffee, you lean back on your chair and look at the girl, "I do know. The same as a certain _someone_ and Potions. Isn't that right, Cora?"

"Tsk," is the offhanded reply, as she flips her hair in a mock flourish you all know quite well.

Shaking her head, Félicie rolls her eyes, but her expression swaps into a large grin. Everyone is giggling at this point, including Cora.

Reva adds in her shy manner, "The other students weren't even studying."

"Exactly," Cora starts, nodding at the brunette. "That's the problem. They're using double standards with us, Fleur. Those Krum fans were laughing, talking nonsense, and plotting more ways to woo him." Her expression is filled with boredom and disapproval. "Insufferable, all of them."

"They just won't give up. I'd hate to be Krum right now," Reva remarks. A few faces lift to look at her and she asks in confusion, "What?"

Cora sits up straighter and makes a show of placing a small piece of parchment over the roll she'd been writing on. After getting her quill ready, she looks seriously at the brunette, "Let me put this on record. _When_ would it be a good time for you to _love_ being Krum?"

The teasing tone is flawless and sprouts a few rounds of chuckles.

"That was mean," the brunette complains, hiding a pout and a blush behind her book.

"They weren't even the worst. A very annoying group of Slytherins was having fun," Félicie's voice then plummets to a whisper so weak you have to lean closer to hear it, and all the while the girl is eyeing the door with apprehension, "over the Skeeter article on Professor 'Agrid. Most were the eldest, sixth and seventh-years."

It's a touchy subject around Madame Maxime, so you've all been avoiding any remarks at the carriage or when there's a chance she could overhear your conversation.

"The things they said were too rude. It took Félicie and Solenn together to convince Alix to ignore them. And I stopped Cora from hexing them myself. Twice," Reva confides proudly, raising two fingers in a very visible 'V'.

Cora tussles the brunette's hair fondly and smiles, "What would I do without you?"

Reva rolls her eyes as she tries to fix her hairdo, but smiles softly all the same.

"And we saw them eating in her library, too," Solenn accuses, cracking her knuckles absently. "But, oh no, she had to pick on _us_."

"'Ze senior ladies should set an example'." Cora does an overly exaggerated impression of the rigid librarian with her English accent, raising the tip of her nose and crimping her brow at Félicie, who is unwrapping a large candy bar.

"Right. So her senior students are doing NEWTS in a few months, and she lets them get away with all that? " Lucie quips grimly. "Give us a break too, please. Maybe she forgot that _these_ senior ladies are facing our own finals when we go home. Can you believe she kicked us out?"

You sigh, sympathizing with the overall anxiety. This will only get worse as graduation becomes closer, more real, inescapable.

"There must be a better explanation than Madam Pince being biased against us," you argue slowly, playing it low-key to respect everyone's hurt pride. "That librarian doesn't look the kind for double standards. I think she is highly suspicious of _any_ student that is allowed near her books."

Cora exchanges a look with Félicie and Lucie, as if they were telepathically debating the matter. And, clearly, disagreeing with you.

"Isn't it possible," you hesitate, "perhaps," you pause some more, choosing each word, "that you were a _little_ bit, hmm, louder than the rest?"

The girls stay quiet, until Reva mumbles, with her head lowered over her book, "I said that."

Félicie lets out a long sigh.

"Let's admit it, three exams in one week can make us a bit jittery," you continue, glancing at each of the girls that you've known for so long. "Right?"

The rest of the girls join in the silent consideration with the first trio and you pay more attention to your mug while they reach a verdict.

"Fine," Félicie closes her book and slides it to a side. "We might've gone a little overboard. All this thinking is giving me a headache."

Lucie volunteers in a beat, "Yeah. Some time off would be nice now. I haven't relaxed since the start of term."

"I agree, we're letting it get to us. Why don't we think about something else, for a change?" Cora shrugs and sets her quill down, "I refuse to look at another Charms book until after dinner."

"Good idea." You nod and finish your coffee. "Where are the others?"

"Sylvie is with her handsome Hufflepuff boyfriend," Félicie comments, rolling her parchment notes neatly.

"Boyfriend, hmm?" you ask with a suggestive lopsided smile, as the other girls follow her example and start tucking their items away.

Lucie nods, clasping her bag shut already, "Oh, yes. We checked to be sure. Believe it or not, they are going steady."

"They are sweet," Reva offers gently.

"More or less. Particularly on the 'less' side when they're being, you know, gross," Cora deadpans.

Lucie gasps and turns to Solenn at once, "Talking about gross and hideous..."

'Huh? Who said anything about hideous?'

"... did you see that girl at the library, sitting with the flat-faced Slytherin boy?" She snaps her fingers a few times, "I always forget his name."

Solenn forgets her quill and her brain snaps into gossip mode, speaking so fast you almost can't keep up, "Cassius Warrington. The short one with the huge ribbon on her hair? That shocking pink hurt my eyes, I swear."

"But her make-up was well done. So why did she use that thing?" Lucie prattles on. "Someone told me she has this powder that does marvels for her skin, a family secret."

"And the eyelashes? Kind of pretty, too. I wonder if that's a spell," Solenn adds, still in the same speed.

"Oh, and I heard the other guy sitting with them - the cute one with the scar on his chin - is _so_ cool." Lucie bursts in a grin and nearly squeals, "He's available, too."

You shake your head to try to release yourself from the ping-pong exchange and turn back to face Cora, leaving the pair of girls to their high-pitched affairs, "Excuse me, what were you saying, Cora?"

"Huh?" Cora has some trouble to distract herself from the on-going stream of gossip, too, but finally obliges, "Oh. Uhm, their 'glued at the lips' act, Fleur. It's helpless."

The answer surprises you. This is still Cora, but it's not usual for her to deliver a remark like that. There's something edgy, if not bitter, bleeding into her words.

"Actually, it's called kissing, Cora," Félicie promptly corrects the girl. "You know, that goes with passion, and excitement, and butterflies, and falling in love... sometimes, and-"

She stops short when she notices your intrigued stare, blushing softly and looking away.

"No, I'm sticking with helpless," Cora retorts stubbornly.

"You're supposed to be more romantic than that," Félicie provokes the raven-haired friend. "Where's your French blood?"

"In my veins, obviously," Cora says, hiding away her arching lips and standing up to perform a Refilling Charm on everyone's mugs. "And I _am_ a romantic, for your information."

Félicie shakes her head, "Then I don't get you."

"Neither do I," you confess, watching Cora curiously. "I've never heard you talking like this about anyone."

"Because I usually don't, Fleur, okay? _This_ is a unique case," the girl says neutrally, tasting her steaming coffee. "Have any of you seen them together?"

"No," Félicie and you confess at the same time.

Reva contributes a little off-beat, "Uh, no."

"That's why. A kiss, like Félicie so kindly reminded us, is about caring, desire, feelings. It should be beautiful. In their case, it," Cora pauses, shaking her head with a pessimistic expression, "it simply isn't."

Alix walks into the room, hovering several large books to the table. Félicie gets up at once to help her set them in separate piles.

"So the champion has graced us with her presence. How very nice. It was so hard to get her out of bed that I'm still wondering if I tampered with the natural order of things, or the laws of the Universe. We might get another blizzard today. And maybe with thunderbolts that can shake up the walls this time," she taunts playfully, while you shake your head and a few chuckles twinkle through the group at your expense.

"What have I missed?" Alix soon queries.

Félicie starts to check one of the new books while answering. "Cora was talking about how Sylvie and her new boyfriend are helpless together."

"In a gross way," Reva completes.

"Oh, the kissing?" Alix asks loudly, then clamps both hands over her mouth. "Oops. I didn't mean to say that."

It works like a magnet and now everyone is following the conversation. Even Lucie and Solenn ceased their bubbly natter to give priority to Alix.

"See? Someone else pays attention, too," Cora pipes up, looking around.

"Well," Alix whispers, making a rather pitiful face, "it's hard to ignore. Most of the times, it gets too, uhm, wet."

Solenn adds the missing piece in a hush, "So that's what this is about? No big deal, so her boyfriend is a sloppy kisser. I've seen it. She has to wipe her face after."

Félicie shakes her head, "We shouldn't be talking like this. Sylvie will be offended. She really likes him."

"Well, it's not like we can do anything to help. But there were some very good kissers, if she was going for Hufflepuff," Cora adds with a frown. "And there are a lot more in the other Houses, too. She could've asked for advice."

"Who in their right mind asks for suggestions on a good kisser?" Alix asks doubtfully, hands drifting to her hips.

"Maybe they should. It isn't such a bad idea," Cora shrugs.

"People can learn. It must be much easier to find someone with a good character and improve the way they kiss than fall for a good kisser and then try to fix their major character flaw," Alix argues slowly.

"You'd be surprised," Cora quips. She feels compelled to continue when she takes a look around. "I meant about improving the kissing part, not the character thing. They can be both very hard. Just don't assume that improving kissing is all that simple." Now she's frowning. "Okay, you can all stop looking at me like that. I don't have a thing for people with character issues."

"Right. Are you suggesting you could've given her some advice on the quality kissers of 'Ogwarts?" It's clear that Alix is taunting now.

"Why not?" Cora raises an eyebrow. "I could help anyone of you, too."

"And how would you know anyway, Cora? There's an entire castle of students around the corner." Defiant green eyes clash against grey.

"The Alix glare doesn't work on me," Cora warns flatly. "I just know, okay? I notice things and I know people. Call it my special gift. I can always tell."

Félicie crosses her arms, smirking, "Prove it."

"Okay. Tell me how. What do I have to do to make you believe me?" the girl retorts.

Alix grins from ear to ear, "Tell us who are these so-called good kissers. We'll discredit your guesses."

"Do you really want to do this?" Cora asks in amusement.

Slowly, all the other girls start to nod in agreement. You can sense the challenge hanging in the air.

Cora shrugs confidently, as if in the presence of a very naive crowd, "Give me a minute to think."

"Haldor Asenov, from Durmstrang. Tall, strong, handsome. Possessive. Incredible kisser. Plump mouth, great stamina. A bit on the rough side."

Everyone exchanges a blank look.

Lucie clears her throat, "You can't prove anything with a guy neither of us knows in that way."

"Or that we've never even seen kissing anyone else," Solenn adds.

Cora frowns, but gives in to the argument. "Okay, I'll come up with another." After a little more thinking, she smiles knowingly, "I know. Roger Davies. He's the gentle type, that leaves your lips tingling. Right, Fleur?"

You make a face. An unimpressed one. "I wouldn't know," you admit at last.

"Haven't you-" Cora is surprised enough to let her jaw drop. "How's that possible?"

"There you go, kiss-wiz," Alix quickly instigates the conversation ahead after glancing at you. "Any other great example to prove this alleged gift?"

"Can't say I remember a good option right now," Cora remarks, her grey eyes piercing through to Alix. "Let's change this around. You give me a name and I'll share my expertise."

"Very well... Uhm, Lucian Bole, the Slytherin," Alix throws in.

Cora doesn't blink, "Rough and wild, but not sloppy. A little clingy. The kind who likes to be in charge. And there's something twisted about him."

"Sure," Alix counters. "He's a Slytherin. I'm beginning to think they're all twisted."

"Cedric Diggory?" Félicie offers.

"Too easy," Cora smiles softly. "We've all seen him and Cho. Sweet, careful, takes his time, and he likes to say lots of romantic little things between kisses. Come on, the guy's in love."

"Jeremy Stretton, in Ravenclaw," Lucie puffs.

"Who?" Reva asks around, but there are only shrugs in response.

Once again, Cora doesn't hesitate, "He has, mmm, _potential_, I'd say. A bit shy, but in a cute way, really. That's a boy who can express himself much better with actions than words. And he's been staring at you a lot."

Lucie looks thrilled, "You think? What should I do?"

"He's a nice guy, just don't underestimate his shyness. If you play it cool, chances are he'll really believe you are _not_ interested and give up. Mmm, but don't make it too easy for him, either. He'll find the courage to talk to you."

While Lucie is thinking, Solenn takes a shot, "Let's hear your opinion of the most famous boy around, then. Viktor Krum, please."

Cora nods, "Good kisser. Probably very tender. He isn't my favorite type, but I promise Reva won't have any complaints when they try it."

The brunette's cheeks burn a sharp pink while Cora squeezes her hand once, and no one else says a thing. Her huge crush on the Durmstrang champion is a fact she's been unable to hide since the night of your arrival. And his team of stalkers, in particular, has made things particularly harder. Being the most timid of the group, every glimpse at the flock of girls swirling around him has been nothing short of torture for the girl.

"Why don't we raise the stakes?" Alix takes the lead again, glancing at you with a sly smile that is forewarning you won't appreciate it. "Since you brought him up, tell us what you think about his match at the Yule Ball."

You shoot a well-aimed glower at that taunting smile, as your gut ties itself into a string of knots. The other girls fidget in their chairs, especially Félicie and Reva, sending clandestine glances to check how receptive you are to this line of inquiry.

But their interest in you lasts little, overwhelmed as they are to notice that Cora looks confused, "The Granger girl, Krum's date? I'll have to pass."

Alix starts to cheer and do her irritating victory dance, twirling around with her arms high above her head, but the raven-haired girl stops her right away, "I'm not admitting defeat. I pass _for now_, Alix. Only for now, until I get a chance to watch her better. I lost the habit of checking students that are a bit younger. But never fear, I know who she is. You'll have your answer."

"Oh, so this _gift_ works with girls?" Félicie chuckles.

"Sure," is the no-nonsense reply, as if it was, obviously, the most blatant thing. "Why shouldn't it? "

"Professor McGonagall?" Reva presents weakly.

Most of the girls explode in giggles.

Including Cora. But it doesn't stop her. "Amazing kisser. Experienced, sweet, very passionate."

The giggling reverts to gaping.

"Cora, you're unbelievable," Lucie mutters. "Don't tell me you can guess about Professor Dumbly-dorr, too."

"No," she confesses lightly, unfazed, "and I appreciate that it works that way. It's too weird to think about kissing him. Karkaroff is another riddle. And Madame Maxime, too. I can't take a guess on any of the Headmasters."

"I wouldn't kiss any of them, either," Reva grouses.

"Of course not," Cora chortles, winking at the shy girl. "You just told us you prefer McGonagall."

The brunette groans, flushing at the remark, but it just leads to another round of laughter.

Yup, the moods are a lot lighter now.

"What about Kristen and Lou-Ann? Are they with their boyfriends, too?" you ask when everyone is quiet again, trying to get back on more concrete topics.

Cora sits upright in a flash, "Now, _those_ are good examples. I should've remembered them. Very good looking boys and terrific kissers, too."

"Don't let them hear you say it like that, Cora. Lou-Ann and Kristen are very jealous," Alix teases, and then turns to answer you. "No, Fleur, they're duelling in the Practice Room."

You put on a sad face, "I missed the fun."

Félicie smiles and suggests in a practical way, "We could all have a go during the week. Once the exams are over, I mean. You should plan out a duelling night like you used to, Fleur. Moody is hinting he'll attack us himself, so we have to stay sharp. And after these holidays, I know I can use the practice."

"Okay, I'll make arrangements and tell everyone," you reply, checking the time and standing up. "Madame Maxime is calling, so I should get going. Give me a heads up, please. How are the predictions today?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" Cora asks, raising an eyebrow.

You shake your head with a grim smile, "I get the general picture. Wish me luck."

"Good luck, girl," Alix exclaims. "We'll get ready to go to lunch."

Pausing on the way out, you address the group again, "Oh, I forgot. Someone please warn Emeline that her door was open."

Solenn nods in confirmation, "She said she was having problems with her locking spells. The grain of the wood and her magic didn't get along, or something like that."

"Where is she?" you ask, realizing no one has mentioned her.

After a long silence, where everyone looks around and no one has information to volunteer, Félicie finally shrugs, "Nobody knows."

"That's weird," Reva mumbles. "She can't just disappear all the time."

"The only sure thing about Emeline is that she doesn't miss classes," Alix returns.

"Or meals," Cora continues. "And she always sleeps in her room."

"Yes, that too," Alix rolls her eyes. "But other than that, it's anyone's guess."

You frown, wondering about your friend with the 'vanishing act', before getting your thoughts back on course. "Will you wait for me while I talk to Madame Maxime?"

"Yeah, we'll be at the Central Hall," Alix informs you, and then her attention goes back to the other girls. You listen her wishful tone, "I'm hoping the desserts are good today."

"A chocolate éclair would be awesome," Reva joins in.

Félicie agrees swiftly, "Or apple pie. Mmmm..."

"I like the jam doughnuts," Cora shares her preference.

"Treacle tart for me," is the last you hear from Lucie, as you close the door.

In firm strides, you return to the Central Hall and divert for the corridor at the right side of the fireplace.

You can't block away your worries, trying to estimate in how much trouble you can be after the mishap at Potions yesterday. Or Professor Snape escorting you to the carriage at the beginning of the week. You've been quite busy.

Slowing down as you walk through the corridor, at last you stop, under the last pair of candlelit sconces. You are now standing before a very wide and tall door, with double sidelights and a semi-elliptical fanlight. These are all stained glass structures, framed by very dark wood.

The glass panels at the sides and overhead show elaborate vine-and-flower designs, while the main panel that takes most of the door depicts a stone path winding to the left through a beautiful garden, with a fountain on one side and many flowery shrubs on the other.

You rap on the door a few times and the glazed panels start to gleam, as if illuminated from behind. After a long wait (which you know is for show), an old man comes walking down the path in your direction and stops to look at you, in silence, patting his long beard fondly.

He's wearing a long black gown tied with a leather belt at the waist, that conceals most of the white linen shirt underneath, except for the collar and the small wrist ruffs at the end of each long sleeve. A heavier black robe, that opens at the front, tops the rest of the outfit, and he's featuring his usual velvety black flat hat.

"Good morning, Monsieur Nostredame. My presence was requested by Madame Maxime," you say respectfully. "Could you please tell her that I am here?"

The Michel de Nostredame portrayed in this enchanted stained glass panel was quite popular in Beauxbatons, fairly known for his dead-on predictions. It was unfortunate that he was hit with a stray Confundus Charm during a duel at the school. Ironically, it happened while he was among the curious spectators in a large hall, waiting to see if his prevision on who would be victorious turned out to be correct.

It did.

However, everyone learned afterwards that the counter spell doesn't work very well on enchanted stained glass. And, accurate as he was before that day, Nostradamus has been wrong in at least half of his foretelling ever since.

That is, when he actually delivers a full prediction. Most of the times his eyes become unfocused through a phrase and any listeners are left guessing.

Some of his poetic streak has been lost, too.

Still, Madame Maxime always had a personal sympathy towards his enigmatic presentations, so she brought him to tend to the door to her Office during your stay outside the country.

As expected, he takes on a pompous poise, and then speaks in a grave and slow voice. "The deep Queen will make the three lions hideous and terrible... No, that was not it."

He looks troubled, rubbing his chin with his left hand while making gestures with his right index finger like he is connecting the scattered dots of some type of puzzle. You sigh and wait, trying not to be too impatient.

After little over a minute, he tries again, "The deep entry of the Queen will make the power and the army of the lions a terrible..."

He doesn't continue and doesn't make much sense, either, but you keep that opinion to yourself. The figure starts to pace right and left, concentrating hard, a deep frown showing under his hat.

"Damus," you say, knowing it's the only way to stop his ramblings, since he never liked the nickname, "please, I need to see her before lunch. My time is running out."

He sniffs loudly, rather displeased at your clear interruption of one of his stellar moments, and delivers solemnly, "The deep entry, made by the great Queen, will make the place powerful and inaccessible; the army of the three lions will be defeated, causing within a hideous and terrible thing."

You raise both eyebrows, running his statement over and over in your mind. Considering his job accomplished after a glance at your struck expression, he throws a haughty look your way and marches up the path, disappearing once he goes over the left border of the glass panel.

"He always gives you the coolest predictions, full of mystery and riddles."

You turn around with a skeptical look, watching Alix and Félicie as they amble through the corridor.

"Oh, really?" you ask, rhetorically.

"Yup, beats mine by a long shot," Alix replies. "Dear Damus offered me a complete description of tonight's dinner menu. And I hope it is one of his glorious mistakes. I don't think I can stomach tomato soup with goat eyeballs and stuffed bat heads."

Félicie covers her mouth, turning a few shades paler, "Don't repeat that. We're about to go to lunch."

You make a disgruntled face, fanning Félicie with your hands until her looks improve. "I think we're safe. He's been more wrong than right, at least with me."

"Ahem-ahem."

All of you turn towards the door, cringing when you realize the messenger is already back, has overheard your comment, and now looks definitely hurt.

"The Madame will see you now, Mademoiselle Delacour," he announces and leaves again, denying you the chance of an answer.

When he's gone from sight, the door unlocks and you hastily whisper to the pair in the corridor as you follow his instructions, "Wait for me."

After you are over the threshold, the door shuts silently in place. Mr. Nostradame confirms your entry and returns to the frame, giving you privacy. When he's not visible anymore from this side of the door, the glass panels shut down, becoming dim and dull.

And here you are, at the Headmistress' headquarters. The ample chamber has been proportioned to accommodate Madame Maxime's needs with room to spare, which means you instantly feel a bit out of place, glancing around at the large-scale compartment.

The Office, like its door, is made from such a dark wood that it nearly looks black, concealing the beautiful and natural pattern of its grain. Every part of it is well varnished, subtly reflecting the light in the room.

Along the wall at your back there are a few large paintings of mountain range landscapes and also a long filing cabinet for her documents.

On the right wall stands a single door, which opens onto the Headmistress' personal chambers, then a fireplace in the middle, and finally an elegant rosewood cordial cabinet, with crystal glasses decorated in golden gilt, and matching decanters exhibiting a wide selection of liqueurs. The brands are Madame Maxime's exquisite secret and always received praise from her visitors at Beauxbatons.

You recall a few girls - especially Cora, for tasting and learning reasons, she claimed - tried on more than one occasion to sneak into the office to sample the mysterious beverages, but Mr. Nostradamus wouldn't have any of that.

Turning your head the other way, you take in the most eye-catching of the walls, in your opinion, the one to the left. It's covered in shelves, from ceiling to floor, with the occasional fitting of three elegant glass orbs, magically filled with shivering whitish flames for illumination.

There are chosen books and magical apparatus arranged on the top and lower levels of the shelves, but the ones at eye level are adorned with Madame Maxime's prized collection of crystals.

The beautiful minerals, in all colors and many sizes, are a connoisseur's dream come true, displayed on special cushions to highlight the specimens. Most are perfectly transparent, with flat faces ending on sharp terminations, and preserved in a spotless state.

And one look is all it takes to realize that not even the large rough diamonds are as treasured by the owner as the unique array of precious black opals, sparkling at the center of her exposition. These were all cut into cabochons, showing off a vibrant flashing palette across their polished surfaces.

Only one column of shelves, the smaller ones and closer to the Headmistress, was reserved for personal photos and plenty of framed awards, diplomas and certificates, neatly organized.

You reach the center of the room, watching as the Headmistress is reading through a few reports and dictating a letter to her eagle quill. She waves her hand at you, in a clear invitation to step closer to her desk and sit down.

One of the armchairs is your favorite, so you set your bag on your lap and stay silent. Trying not to pry into her work, you discreetly glance elsewhere, occupying your mind with the abstract pattern of the frosted glass at the high windows behind her, which are closed at the moment, but gleaming as the panels at the door had done before.

"Address this one to the Ministry himself, with copies to the Heads of the British and French Departments of International Magical Cooperation," she commands the quill, which moves to a corner and proceeds with the instructions, producing roll upon roll of parchment.

Her chair rotates so that she's now facing the desk and she rearranges a few of her things, placing down the reports in one of the many stacks of parchment.

"Good morning, Madame," you start when she seems ready to talk.

"Good morning, Fleur. I am a bit behind schedule," she says, distractedly, searching through the contents of her drawers. "So many documents to prepare and file."

Time trickles away and she's still caught up in her thoughts, so you venture again, "Madame, how are you feeling today?"

At her vacant look, you add slowly, "The potion you took yesterday, did it have the expected effect?"

"Oh, yes, yes, certainly. I am much better today," she dismisses your worries with a smile. "Madam Pomfrey is a great nurse. She brewed a modified Pepperup Potion for me. It wouldn't be proper to spend half the afternoon with steam coming out of my ears with Ministry officials coming and going all the time."

"Are they still investigating the Tournament?" you ask, letting a bit of your objection show. "Is it really necessary, Madame?"

Soft sputters interrupt your conversation and the Headmistress turns to the very wide stone hearth, watching as the flames start to flutter and change color. Her eyes soon narrow on the large global map hanging above the mantle, as wide as the fireplace, and she waits in expectation.

Every time the Floo is activated, a small glowing spot indicates the origin of the incoming connection. Curiously, when a small star marks Paris, you notice Madame Maxime starts to frown.

Seconds later, the embers shape into the face of an old wizard with an extremely curly mustache that greets her formally. His arm quickly extends from the puffing green flames, offering many rolls of parchment to the Headmistress, and as soon as the delivery is complete, he says a few parting words and the flames return to normal.

Madame Maxime reads the headlines for each roll, sorts them into the correct piles on her desk, and her forehead becomes even more heavily creased.

A long sigh escapes her before addressing you again, "I would like your opinion, Fleur." She takes a sip from a mug of tea that looks absolutely cold now and glances at you, "What do you think about Mr. Potter entering the Tournament?"

"Hmm..." you buy a little more time to contemplate the boy in question and your memories about him since the decision of the Goblet of Fire. "At first I thought he'd been very clever to find a way to be chosen champion. But then I noticed he was miserable about it. I think he didn't want to be in the Tournament at all. It cost him dearly, too. His companions, even his friends, turned their backs on him."

"Yes, I agree. He wasn't very popular among his peers for a while," she says, thoughtfully. "If 'Ogwarts had planned to add another contestant to the dispute, the school showed its support in a very unbefitting way. Between you and me, they would've chosen an older, more seasoned student for the job, wouldn't they?"

"Probably, Madame," you confirm. "Is that what the Ministry is considering?"

"Unfortunately, it isn't. Mr. Potter will remain a very unpopular wizard with our Ministry," she replies moodily. "This has many unwanted repercussions."

"For Mr. Potter? Why?" you ask, concerned for the young boy.

"Oh, no. For me," she adds dramatically, heaving a long sigh. "I have piles of documents to sign, reports to fill in, and explanations to give to at least four different Departments at the Ministry."

You chew the inner lining of your cheek to keep a hold on the small smile that is threatening to see the light of day at your Headmistress' predicament.

"Madame, Mr. Potter was made a champion by the Goblet of Fire and nothing can overrun that decision. I really don't see the use of turning it into such a complicated matter," you rave rather heatedly. "Maman had a lot to handle last year already. And now you, too?"

"They won't let this go easy, Fleur. It's all paperwork, bureaucratic headache and assuaging hurt prides. No one can make accusations without proof, but everyone wants to cause plenty of trouble so it is not forgotten. The Tournament has turned into a grey area. Politics and Diplomacy..." she shakes her head. "I should have known better the day I accepted to be Headmistress of Beauxbatons."

"You do look tired, Madame," you say softly.

Through the corner of your eye you see something gliding in, through a small swinging door on the left wall. It stops, takes a curious look around, and then curls into a ball and rolls to Madame Maxime, presenting her a roll of parchment.

"Ah, Guille. Is that his-" her voice fades into silence when she slowly retrieves the parchment, looks at it for a while and sets it aside on her desk, though not completely out of reach from your sight.

With hunched shoulders, she picks up the creature on her lap and starts to pat his back, absently.

Taking advantage of her distraction, you check the messenger's commission as inconspicuously as you can, noticing at once the roll of parchment carries the Headmistress' personal handwriting and looks still sealed.

Soon, you start catching faint hints of a foul smell that seems familiar. You inhale deeply a few times, regretting it at once when your brain pieces it together as Hagrid's unique brand of eau-de-Cologne. And now that you know what it is, you can't block your senses from feeling it over and over again.

You bravely resist pinching your nose, though you try to hold your breath for a while, wishing it loses a bit of its kick. It's a wonder a witch like Madame Maxime can appreciate something like that.

Each to their own, it seems.

You bring your attention back to the parchment, thinking of its implications. So this is an undelivered message, returned to the sender in its original state. The Headmistress is trying to stay in touch with the Gamekeeper of Hogwarts.

With an even face, your stare slowly climbs to the tall witch sitting at her desk. Displaying one of the saddest expressions she's probably ever revealed in front of a student, Madame Maxime remains scratching the small prickly creature's head and letting the tips of her fingers roam between the pointy quills on his back.

You know from personal experience that her Knarl - Guille, short for 'Aiguille' - is particularly stingy. Many advised her against him, but she simply finds him too cute. It wasn't an uncommon display at Beauxbatons to see his snout poking out of the outer pocket of the Headmistress' robes. And his quills don't bother her, probably because her thicker skin is an amazing natural protection.

Sensing that you're spending too much time here for no reasonable purpose, you softly clear your throat and noisily change your position on the armchair. It works, and she glances at you again, setting the pet down. Guille rolls somewhere behind her desk and you can't keep track of his trail.

When you look ahead, Madame Maxime is watching you quietly, tapping her fingers on the table. Bringing your spine as upright as possible, you unconsciously tighten your hold on your bag and wait.

"There's something else I need to discuss with you. I've had a few days to think of late, Fleur. And I can't stay quiet anymore. I believe I gave you enough opportunities to come clean about it by yourself," she speaks softly, though the words are heavy as lead. "When were you planning to tell me of your escapade into the Forbidden Forest?"

You swallow loudly, feeling even smaller than usual under her fixed stare. "Madame?"

"The Veela told Dumbly-dorr what happened," she explains. "They warned him of their intentions to visit 'Agrid. And the Headmaster shared the information with me, as I am responsible for you."

Nodding, you breathe slowly and return, "I suspected there was a Veela village in the forest and that they would know the Gamekeeper. When Rita Skeeter published that article to hurt him, I thought they were the best option to help. I should have told you where I was going, Madame, but our villages are kept secret from outsiders."

"And so you kept it from me," she replies, even more slowly.

You wring your hands together and frown, "I am Veela, Madame. I couldn't do any different."

The Headmistress gives you a patient look. "Fleur, your intentions were good, I never doubted that. I am also aware that you are of age and very independent. However," her voice becomes sharper, "as one of my students, when it comes to your well-being, I must report to your parents. This adventure of yours was carried out alone, well into the night, without permission, and you left no indication of your plans or whereabouts. Suppose something - anything at all - went wrong. How would I explain that to Apolline?"

You open and close your lips a few times, but remain unable to speak. And here you are, beaten down about your little field trip. Or field flyby, to be more fitting. You consider for the first time your mother's reaction if anything had gone wrong, though it's hard to believe it could have happened.

Was it a mistake to go after that village?

"I... I didn't think about that," you finally admit.

"No, I suppose you didn't, because I am sure that if you _had_ thought of that, the champion of my school would have adopted a more sensible approach." One of her eyebrows lifts with authority, "Isn't that correct, Fleur?"

"Yes, Madame," you reply humbly, in a low voice.

She calms down and the hardened lines of her features soften slightly, "I have known your family for many years, Fleur. I don't want you to take any more risks than you already do at this Triwizard Tournament. From now on, you will discuss with me any plans that involve the Forbidden Forest or other Veela. And you will do so _before_ you act on them. Any activities that are not a part of your curricular program must have my approval. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes, Madame," you say again and make to stand. "Will that be all?"

"I would like to ask you one last thing before you go," she continues.

"Of course, Madame," and you tense up once more.

She searches through the documents on one of the piles closer to the fireplace, speaking without looking at you for a change, "Is there a problem with the girls, any reasons for complaints? I have noticed more anxiety than usual lately. The term has only started. After such wonderful holidays and the Yule Ball, I expected happier faces in this carriage."

You nod and are about to explain, but there's a weak bump against your right ankle and you look down instead, watching Guilles uncurl and raise a curious snout at you. Smiling, you lower your hand to pat the eager little creature, who is nearly standing on his hind legs to reach it.

The moment you touch his head, an inner switch seems to click, setting an easier reaction in motion through you than any time before, more coordinated and thorough. This time you feel each step of the change taking place.

Your senses sharpen to the point where you can make out the words Mr. Nostredame is chanting on the other side of the door and Hagrid's cologne is detectable as if he was standing in the room. There's a slight pressure in your eyes, indicating the shift from blue to silver. You feel the magic navigating under your skin, tingling through your fingers to warm up Guilles. The little creature nuzzles your foot, almost... cuddling? And his quills remain down and relaxed.

"Guilles always took to you, Fleur," Madame Maxime says and you straighten up again, willing the change to reverse.

As easily as it took over, it recedes now. The Knarl soon rolls around the desk, probably going to his cozy indoor habitat, spelled to resemble the natural one at Beauxbatons.

Looking down at your hands, set comfortably on your lap, the temptation to do it again and test yourself is barely short of irresistible. But not now. You hope you remember to try it eventually, when alone and time isn't a constraint.

"Thank you, Madame. He is very friendly," you remark, in an attempt at levity. "About your question, everyone loved the holidays and the Ball, too. The current mood swing is related to classes. We have three important exams next week. The girls are so worried that they've organized a study group. Saturday afternoon we'll stay in the carriage to prepare for Potions, Charms and Transfiguration. The session will probably last late into the night."

She nods, in an overly grave fashion, "My obligations will keep me in this office while you study." She takes a deep breath. "I will talk to Dumbly-dorr to arrange refreshments for you tomorrow. They will be served at the carriage so you have more freedom to work around your needs."

A soft crackling from the fireplace alerts you to another Floo call. Madame Maxime fixates her stare on the map above the fire with visible apprehension. You realize she's repeatedly mumbling under her breath, and it sounds something along the lines of 'Not London, not London, not London'. The mantra ends and her face is taken by a large grin as soon as a small triangle glows in a location near Cannes.

"Beauxbatons," you exclaim in a light tone.

She is still smiling and watching the flames carefully. "News from home, at last."

Without much expertise, a lean arm fumbles from the flames and throws a large amount of charred envelopes into the room, disappearing right away. Madame Maxime flicks her wand and the envelopes land neatly and repaired on her desk.

"Maurice," she says wearily, waving her wand again to open the windows and let the stench of burnt parchment clear out, "I explained the way to use the Floo in my absence. He might learn before we return home."

She doesn't go on, so you slowly get up and walk to the door. When you're hoisting a hand to knock and say good-bye, you hear her voice again.

"Fleur, please, how," she pauses, hesitating, before completing her sentence in a whisper, unlike her conventional stentorian tones, "how is he?"

You whirl right there in surprise, "Madame?"

She shakes her head and waves her hand dismissively, looking like she's regretting having said anything at all. "Never mind. I was thinking out loud."

Frowning, you take a few paces in her direction and guess right away what she wants to know. Unfortunately, there isn't much for you to tell her. "He is not doing too well, yet, but the Veela said he will get better soon."

Her eyes slide up to your face and some of the sadness abates, though she quickly glances somewhere else, "Oh. Those are great news, aren't they? Yes, very, very good news."

"Yes, they are. Good-bye, Madame," you say, suspecting she wants to be alone.

"Good-bye, Fleur," she replies reflexively, her stare already lost in the glowing embers of the fireplace.

You nod and leave, closing the door with a soft click. As you cross the corridor a few broken words reach you from the Central Hall and you're soon in the company of most of the other girls. Leaving your bag on a couch, you go to the bathroom to wash your hands, meeting the missing ones there, still touching up their make-up.

Alix had been right. If you had returned to bed, you'd never make it in time.

The group leaves the carriage at a leisurely pace. You casually watch the clear sky above and the thinning coating of snow on the grounds. Without much to occupy your mind, you start to mentally organize the things you have to do in the castle before lunch, when Reva points at Hagrid's hut and suggests trying to see him. You've all missed him lately, and that includes his playful 'pup', as you usually call Fang.

The detour is short and brings you to the same clearing from the previous night. There aren't any vestiges that indicate what took place here, and the cabin looks locked as usual now, without signs of cooking, smoke from the chimney or any barking.

Félicie knocks on the door a few times and silence is her only answer. Solenn and Lucie join her, while Cora and Alix try one of the windows. You skirt the forest, looking around, and then see deeper in-between the trees a trail of massive footprints in a patch of unmelted snow. They lead straight into the woods, apparently followed by Fangs'.

Interesting. He left his home, at last, probably to go to the place where he feels most comfortable. Perhaps he'll run into the Veela again, by himself. Or he might find the source of that foul stench. You throw your head slightly back and inhale deeply as you think of the memory.

And, yes, there's _something_ there. Richer this time, and just too strange to ignore. It's rot, alright, mixed in with petroleum, and some sulphur, and an unpleasant tinge that you can't place. You pull out your wand, letting it hang in your hand, pointing down, and take small steps forward, choosing carefully to set your feet where there isn't any snow left.

There is not even a single moving twig, or bird tweet, or soft wind whooshing through branches and bushes. The scenery is dead and still. Too much so, for your taste. Tightening your hold on the wand, you keep a sharp watch for any traces of movement, through and even up the trees. The bad smell is strong as before, but not stronger, and you can't tell the direction it's coming from.

You stop before landing another step ahead and take a large tree for cover, concealing yourself. Somehow, you can't shake the feeling of being observed. And it gives you the ultimate creeps that you can't tell _who_ or _what_ is doing it, or _where_ they are.

All of a sudden, this is looking like a very bad idea. Frowning, you start to retrace your steps, walking backwards to the clearing, your wand now clearly raised in front of you, eyes and ears attentive to everything. And that's how you hear hurried footsteps coming at you. From behind.

"Fleur, what are-aaaaah!"

You spin just in time to catch with widening eyes the sequence of Reva running, losing her footing, and flying off straight at you.

"Hmppphff."

That's all you have to say after she collides and brings you down, landing splayed on top of you.

"Uhmm. Sorry. We were calling you back. T-to lunch, right?" she asks with flushing cheeks, trying to get untangled and stand up.

Still winded, you breathe slowly and as deep as you can to get rid of the awful sensation of having squashed lungs. Each pull feels like you're taking in fire, instead of air. A few seconds later and you have at least six more pairs of eyes witnessing the results of the acrobacy, some worried, some holding back humor. You finally lift a hand and the brunette helps you up.

Looking down, you're a total ruin. From shoes to hair, there's snow, mud, pebbles, twigs and countless other samples of wild nature clinging to you. And that's why it's amazing to be a senior student and have dependable friends. Reva and you stand quiet, while wands turn and flip around you, cleaning every bit of anything that shouldn't be there.

"Thank you all," you say with a satisfied smile.

"Anytime, Fleur. Did you find anything here?" Cora asks, taking a look around.

"I saw footprints that probably belonged to 'Agrid and Fang. But I didn't see them," you reply. "I was already going back when Reva decided she had gone too long without a hug."

Time for some giggling and to see Reva blush.

Cora soon winds her arm around the brunette's, "Come on, I'll make sure you arrive in one piece at the castle. And when you want a hug, next time just ask."

Reva smacks her friend's arm softly, but accepts her company back to Hagrid's. The other girls follow their example and you stay at the rear, throwing cautious looks over your shoulder every now and then. After a few steps, you stop and stare one last time through the trees. A soft breeze blows at you and the odor is gone. And now there are birds chirping merrily.

You sigh. If you have the chance, you'll bring it up with Hagrid sometime. Perhaps he can explain it.

Heading for the castle now, a talkative Cora is explaining in detail the best ways to protect oneself from the effects of Veritaserum. Professor Snape's warned you all lately that he's trying to get permission from the Ministry to show its effects in class. And that his method of choice would be by testing a dose on one of the senior students. The possibility of baring the inner workings of your minds to _him_, in particular, has you all feeling a bit nauseous.

The front doors of the school soon come into view, though still a bit far away. You pair with Alix and slow down on purpose to put some distance from the rest of the group.

While keeping track of the size of the gap so it's enough to talk privately without raising suspicions, you run your fingers through your ponytail, releasing a few more loose strands in a sudden gust, and start with a basic opening remark, "It's a beautiful morning, much better than yesterday. We might have a warmer weekend."

"I hope so. We've had enough of the carriage and the castle this week." She points her wand at the trail to get rid of a large mud puddle and finally speaks her mind, "Well? What did Madame Maxime want with you for so long?"

You frown. The Veela topic is still out of bounds. "She was busy, going through her mail. Lots of letters to sort, and more incoming while I was there. She asked about our collective anxiety and I told her we were worried because of the exams."

"That was all boring, then. You should know she wasn't the only one searching for you this morning," she shares with a smirk. "During breakfast a certain English brunette kept looking at our table and at the doors. I guess she didn't expect your absence."

"Really?" you smile, while a sense of happiness swells in your chest. It makes you feel light as air and even the pangs from your ribs seem weaker now.

"I'll have an eyesight check with my Dad's mediwizard at home," Alix claims, shaking her head and flashing you a teasing smile. "When you as much as think of her, your face lights up like fireworks. _And_ you're blushing. It's tough to believe I missed this."

You return coyly, rearranging the bag on your shoulder, "Just… leave it alone, okay?"

"I don't want to, Fleur. It isn't every day that something like this happens to you." She sees your uneasiness and adds, "But I'll be discreet and keep it between us."

"Thank you. That's all that I ask," you reply quietly, knowing she will keep her word.

"I can see you really like her," she says, chuckling at the sight of Reva and Lucie darting after a couple of agile squirrels. When she continues, her tone is softer and encouraging, "Isn't that right?"

"Yes, it is, Alix. We have been together for a short time, but she just…" you pause to measure your words, but then reconsider. You don't have to keep things under wraps with her. This is Alix, after all. "I look at her and I see such a beautiful girl, so perceptive and thoughtful, so full of compassion. The kind that can be brave for others, even though she's still a little shy about herself, you know? It's _easy_ to be around her, and I mean 'easy' in the sense of comfortable, and pleasant, and exciting. I am constantly thinking of her… And she has the prettiest eyes, Alix."

You sigh, thinking of that delicately-cut face, the wild hair with a will of its own, her sparkling stare, the softest of lips, and once again, you can't lock your mouth in a straight line. "'Ermione just… makes me smile. _All_ the time, sometimes for no reason at all. And it makes me want to see her smile, too."

Green eyes glance slyly at you, and then Alix nudges your shoulder playfully. "This is only the beginning, girl. You still owe me every little detail about those pretty eyes," she whispers by your ear.

"And I will give them to you, Alix," you reply calmly, turning your stare to the girls ahead.

After a long silence as you fall into step side by side, you remember something else. "Sorry for changing the subject, but this might be a good moment to talk about it. What's gotten into Cora? She's... weird today."

She sighs, nodding, "She had a row with Yvonne right after breakfast."

"Those two, yelling at each other? In public?" you frown, as you're crossing the covered bridge, where a few students are chatting in small groups, some looking down at the ravine or beyond that, at the school grounds. "That's quite hard to imagine."

"Only Yvonne did the lashing out, and you're right, she isn't one to yell. But anyone could tell it wasn't a fun chat," Alix responds, waving at a few Durmstrang boys. "Cora just let the girl be done with it. After it was over, she didn't say a word on the library. Not even when she was about to hex the skin off some-"

"Slytherins gossiping on the Skeeter thing," you cut in. "Reva said she made her stop."

"Yeah, that was it. Cora didn't say much on the way to the carriage, either, and then she stayed in her room for a long time. The most we saw of her was when she turned up to study with us, right before I went to wake you up."

You look at the raven-haired girl, telling something to a trio of smiling young Gryffindors, and you can't help but remember about your own bad period with Hermione. As soon as she thinks no one is looking her way anymore, the happy expression reverts to the more serious and thoughtful one you'd witnessed last night.

"She doesn't look too good, does she?"

Alix only shakes her head, while entering the Entrance Hall and instantly lowering her voice so it doesn't echo out of control, "We should cheer her some."

You nod and tell her you have a few errands to run. Without explaining further, you go up the Grand Staircase and turn in the direction of the Hospital Wing.

As you stroll, the feeling of being watched, even stalked, starts to bother you. It's noticeable that people hush up and stop what they are doing as you pass, to follow your every move. Anonymous stares drag on your figure, rapidly drifting elsewhere when you glance over your shoulders, but nailing again onto your back as soon as you turn ahead. It's a dreadful sensation that you hadn't experienced in a while, and you go that much faster to be rid of the unwanted attention.

Your breathing is a bit labored when you finally reach the nurse's office, and you don't lose time to steady it before knocking on the door.

You stay at the threshold and speak when she looks up from a book, "'Ello, Madam Pomfrey. I was sent by Professor Snape."

Searching in your bag, you retrieve his signed message, offering it to the older witch.

"Good morning to you, Miss Delacour. Let me take a look at that." She reads the roll of parchment carefully, and then frowns, "He's asked me to provide a large vial of Sleeping Draught. This isn't a new type of experiment, now, is it?"

"Non, Madam," you reply defensively, though her stern stare doesn't release you. "Ze professor simply asked me to collect it."

"Very well. Wait here and I'll have it ready for you soon," she says, going into the Hospital Wing.

You catch a glimpse of the large room with spartan accommodations, the wide windows, the high ceilings, the few torches and candle chandelier, the obvious cleanliness, and you're simply drawn there.

Despite the request for you to remain in the office, you step into the Hospital Wing and check every one of the few details available to the eye, guessing the nurse has gone into one of the small doors close to her office, probably a storage room for potions and pastes.

"You're looking around so curiously, Miss Delacour," the nurse's soft voice startles you, coming from somewhere right behind you. "What do you think?"

"Oh. Je suis désolée. I did not mean to stare," you apologize, turning to face her and sweeping your hand around. "Zis infirmary is different from ze one at Beauxbatons. I like it."

Even as you speak to her, you're still glancing around, now carefully memorizing the spacing of the beds, their feather mattresses, the screens and small drawers.

"Do you have an interest in Healing?" she asks with a kind but very tiny smile.

You nod slowly, "Oui, Madam. It runs in my family."

She seems very pleased by that information. The nurse walks further into the Hospital Wing, inviting you to tag along. She takes you to every corner and back, and then shows the books in her office and opens the well-provided storage room for you, speaking fondly, "Our Hospital Wing looks small, but it befits the school very well. We have access to any instruments, materials and potions of regular use. And what we don't have at hand is quickly searched and brought to the castle to fulfill any special demands. The Headmaster and the long-term staff are truly concerned for the well-being of our students."

"It clearly shows, Madam," you comment respectfully, looking at the impressive inventory.

"Naturally, it helps that most students aren't regularly in too much trouble, apart from a few recurrent names. And accidents are bound to happen in a school environment," she sighs in resignation. Walking you through her office, Madam Pomfrey offers the one item you came after. "Here is your potion, Miss Delacour."

"Merci, Madam," you reply, accepting the dark vial.

"Half a cup is the dose for a good night of sleep," she instructs, now taking you to the door. "Before you go, Miss Delacour, bear in mind that the champions of the Triwizard Tournament are at high risk of earning a long stay in this Wing. Be careful and avoid that, won't you?"

"I will do my best, Madam," you answer as you set the potion in your bag. Smiling, you continue, "Your infirmary is a nice place, but I 'ave no intention to be your guest 'ere."

She nods in approval. "Professor Snape should be satisfied with the Draught. Now, off you go, Miss Delacour. It's almost time for lunch."

"Of course. Zank you again, Madam Pomfrey," you say and take your leave.

Checking the hour again, you have just enough time left to meet Dobby before making it to the meal. The corridors are empty now and you breeze through the Entrance Hall, the basement and into the kitchens.

As you'd expected, it's bursting with activity, a large group of house-elves undertaking the last preparations for serving lunch. The noise of cutlery and steaming pots with jumpy lids is positively deafening. Almost giving up on your task, you suddenly recognize a wild tea-cosy dangling in your direction.

"Miss is back," the short elf wearing the colorful cloth as a hat grins widely.

You crouch low to be at eye level with him. "'Ello, Dobby. 'Ow are you?"

"Dobby is well, miss. We is taking care of lunch. Miss will like it today," he replies with enthusiasm, offering you a goblet full of a rich crimson liquid. "Here is cranberry juice, miss."

"Merci, Dobby." In small gulps you soon empty the tasty dose and return the large goblet to him, "I do not know 'ow to zank you for all zis."

"Dobby is proud to help, miss. You is liking the arils, yesterday?" he asks, and his eyes look even larger in anticipation.

"Je suis désolée," you reply in a low voice. "Ze flask you gave me wiz ze arils was destroyed in class. I cannot give it back, but I would like to replace it wiz a new one."

He shakes his head, flapping his ears from side to side, "We is making more when one is missing."

You give him a hopeful look, "Are you saying zere are more exactly like it 'ere?"

Dobby smiles and nods repeatedly, guiding you through the kitchen while evading the other working elves. The aromas in your path make your mouth water so much that you nearly stop in your tracks to appreciate them longer.

But the house-elf promptly distracts you, opening the creaking doors of a small cabinet, filled with identical flasks. "We is having many more, miss."

Your lips stretch into a very wide smile, and a large weight seems to have been lifted from your shoulders. "Dobby, zis is important. Can you prepare me anuzzer one wiz arils, just like ze one you gave me yesterday? I need it to explain to ze professor what 'appened."

"Dobby can talk to the suppliers, miss. Dobby gets more pomegranates. I is going now," he squeaks, ready to snap his fingers and Disapparate right then.

You hold his hand and try to calm him down, "No, please do not do zat now, Dobby. Anytime in ze weekend is more zan I could 'ope. And if it is not possible until later zan zat, it will be okay. When do you regularly receive fresh supplies?"

"Sunday, miss. Dobby will gets it Sunday, miss," he offers, slightly uncomfortable at not fulfilling your wish instantly.

"Zat would be terrific, Dobby," you say, and quickly kiss the top of his tea-cosy in gratitude. "Zank you so much."

He smiles shyly, and then accompanies you to the portrait out. Time to rush again. Now you still have to find Hermione and get a look at that book.

As luck would have it, when you reach the Beauxbatons assembly in the Entrance Hall, you get a glimpse of that familiar bushy hair at the top of the staircase. Hermione sees you, too, and hurries down with her friends, smiling one of those smiles that says she's really happy to see you.

It brings back that treasured memory, of the night when you watched her float gracefully down the stairs, wishing it had been you the one to wait on her.

And now you are.

Before you even register it, your lips curl in a wide smile and you are already pacing in their direction, until your vision is obscured by a blood-red barrier that you try to ignore and bypass, but just won't go away.

"Fleurr," a deep voice calls and your stare finally sets on the obtrusion, taking in the boy standing in your path.

"Krum! I-I mean, Viktor," you stutter with some alarm, watching the young man draw near with his regular slouch, in the company of one of his more muscular friends.

If you remember correctly, the last time you talked to him, during the holidays, there was a brunette you'd been avoiding at his side.

It takes a while for the initial surprise to wear off, and then you continue in a firmer voice, "You spoke my name ze correct way."

"It vos Hermy-own-ninny. She told me I haff to be careful vith the names. But I practice and her name I still can't say vell," he answers humorously, attempting a joke.

You indulge him with a small smile as you consider his words, "Viktor, I cannot pronounce 'er name, either. It is too much of a challenge for my accent."

He nods, smiling a little too, and then claps his companion on the back, hauling him closer to you. "This is a great vizard and my friend, Iordan Levski."

"Ze one zat is dating Lou-Ann, non?" you ask, as the bulky boy performs a formal bow. The Durmstrang champion apparently doesn't know that you were introduced already, so you play along, "I 'eard many good zings about you, Iordan. And I noticed your girlfriend 'as just arrived, over zere."

"Vare?" His somber face instantly changes into a huge grin, flanked by marked and rather cute dimples.

Already leaving after her, the boy mumbles a few foreign words, probably to excuse himself.

"Are you better today?" Viktor starts again, as you both watch the excited boy speed away.

Going through today's earlier memories and Cora's remarks on the couple, you are quick to agree with your friend's opinion. _That_ is an undeniable example of awesome chemistry and great kissing.

"Hmmm?" you finally reply to Viktor, unable to keep track of what he just asked.

There's gritty, forced coughing somewhere, and your gaze wanders, chasing after the source of the noise. It turns out that several girls are monitoring your on-going chat. Tamsin Applebee included, glaring daggers at you.

"You vere sick yesterday. That vos a difficult potion to do ven sick," he elaborates, in a reassuring way.

"Oh, zat. Oui, I am feeling well now," you answer, instinctively frowning at the exasperating girls, but not missing his concerned tone. "Zank you for asking. 'Ow did yours go?"

"Ve almost didn't finish in the time limit. It vos okay in the end," he says, and then becomes quiet.

During the awkward silence that follows, you notice Hermione walking by with an inquisitive expression at you, once she catches a glimpse at who is your current company. The only thing you can do is shrug furtively at her, hoping Mr. Krum didn't see the exchange. With caution, you steal a glance at the boy to check.

And what you see is enough for you to rush from speculative to upset. One look was all it took to convince you that the Durmstrang champion is neither noticing you, nor pondering what to say. He probably doesn't remember any longer that you're standing beside him.

No, the truth is that he's completely absorbed in watching the charming brunette on her way to a large group of Gryffindors.

You pin an icy gaze on the boy and crisscross your arms, waiting with growing impatience for him to remember that he's supposed to be talking to you. Not flaunting his admiration for _your_ girl in broad daylight, to all and any in the castle to see.

This time you recognize all too well the rush of jealousy spiking through the roof, plus a strong flare of magic that channels straight to your balled fists. Surprisingly, the boy remains oblivious while you're seething, rooted where you stand.

Next comes a squeeze at the irises, then the ticklish sensation of the ponytail brushing against your stiff nape, and at last you realize your charms are starting to act out, too.

High time to bring things to a stop.

It has gone too far, too quickly, and it's too much for you to handle at once. Closing your eyes, you relax your arms and breathe in a steady and slow rate, repeatedly, until you're calming down.

It takes a while to recover, more than it happened earlier with Guilles. Sneaking a peek around once again, Mr. Krum is still following Hermione and there are now several glazed-eyed boys gazing at you in the Hall.

You clear your throat loudly and the champion finally blinks a few times, breaking through his distracted daze to look around, trying to ground himself again.

And then his face becomes even more serious as he turns your way. "I vant a talk vith you."

"Really?" You ask rather bitterly, but still wanting to know his motivations for all this. "And what would you want to talk about wiz me, Viktor?"

"Her," he mumbles.

You give him an incredulous look, unable to believe your ears, "Hmm?"

He takes a deep breath and speaks again, more evenly, "Hermy-own-ninny."

The name has barely escaped his lips and screeching warnings start to go off in your head. Your teeth clench tightly, you can feel the hairs on your nape bristling, and the tingles that faded only minutes ago start to spread down your arms again. But unlike before, now you wonder if you'll be able to contain them, should this turn bad. Or if you'll really want to.

"Fleur, you 'ave to 'ear zis!" A loud voice interrupts Viktor's attempt at speaking, and he turns to search who's calling you.

Quick footsteps. A tight hold on your left hand. Soft but insistent yanking.

With some effort, you look away from the boy and find Alix smiling at you, dragging you with her. "Je suis désolée, Viktor. I will take Fleur from you."

The boy's face falls, but he slowly nods.

"I should go, Viktor," you say to the flustered boy.

"Of course, Flurr-" He stops and tries again, "Eh, Fleurr. Some other time."

You give him a curt nod and stalk away with your friend, trying to control your emotions the best you can, until you breathe freely again.

"Thank you for the rescue," you confide to the auburn-haired girl.

"Sure, Fleur. But _he_ should be the one saying that. I think you were getting ready to practice some hexes," she replies with a knowing smirk.

Before there's time to reply, you shiver at the sudden sensation of someone creeping behind you.

"Why would Fleur do that to him?" Reva asks innocently, and you know she's frowning before you can even see her face.

Alix dismisses it with the most casual expression possible, "It was a joke, Reva, because of the champion thing. Don't take it seriously." Her face then crumples into a frown and she touches her temple, apparently thinking hard, "Oh, and Félicie is looking for you. She said there's something wrong with your homework."

"That can't be. Are you sure?" the smaller girl asks in concern. "It took me hours to do. Whole _hours_. Where is she?"

"That way." You point towards the tall hazel-eyed girl you just spotted, and the petite brunette nearly leaps away.

"You should be thanking me again," Alix adds, once Reva is out of earshot. "I wonder what she'd do if she learned about your twisted intentions with that particular champion."

"It wasn't _so_ bad," you protest, trying to tone things down, though it doesn't sound convincing even to your own ears. "And he brought it on himself."

"Whatever you say, Fleur," she says, surrendering at once. The look on her face is totally skeptical, but she knows you enough to stop insisting. "Go talk to your Gryffindor, already. She's been stalling over there with her friends. And you better move before she sees us talking this close and starts to wonder."

That earns her some major eye-rolling, but Alix only chuckles, pushing you away, "You don't have much time left. Lunch starts soon."

You take the advice to heart, pacing in the direction she indicated. Surely enough, there's the brunette, in the middle of a chatty Gryffindor bunch, now wearing a very serious frown.

The mere sight of her has your lips stretching as far as they can go. How can she affect you so much by simply… _being_?

"Bonjour, 'Ermione," you say softly, and then salute her friends as well, "'Arry. Ronald."

"Hello, Fleur," Harry replies.

"Good afternoon," Hermione continues, relaxing her expression into a dainty smile. It has a great effect to soothe any leftover anxiety from your previous encounter.

Ronald looks at you with such an expression of awe that you search down for anything misplaced on your uniform.

The brunette doesn't seem too amused at the way the ginger is affected by you, but her stare doesn't linger on the boy, fanning out instead, as if searching for someone else through the Hall, "We didn't see you at breakfast. How long have you been up?"

"A little over an 'our," you state honestly, looking around for anything unusual, too. But you find nothing.

Her attention returns to you and her eyes widen momentarily. She finally chuckles, "You were really tired yesterday. Did you sleep well?"

She notices the boys are listening in, their eyes wide with curious wonderment at her easy interaction with you, and the brunette starts to bite her lip again.

"Like a baby," you answer seamlessly, very aware that your well-rested state must show. To smooth things down, you address the boys, too, "I saw you all used ze cloak yesterday. Was it a safe walk to your Common Room?"

"Yeah," Ronald whispers, avoiding your eyes. "Quick and easy."

A pair of Gryffindor boys about the same age as the trio hurries by, crowing loudly over a recent exciting match involving a Quidditch team that must be a big hit for them. Harry and Ronald are soon very interested in the description of some fanciful Seeker stunts, subtly leaning towards that conversation to catch the details. It doesn't take long for them to drop any attempts at subtlety and turn to join that chat.

Which means the brunette and you just earned a little privacy.

She takes full advantage of the opportunity to share her mind. "You know, I'm looking at you and I see something that wasn't there yesterday. You are, uhm, almost..." the brunette's voice peters out as she bites her lower lip, leaving you on edge.

"What?"

"I can't really explain it. Did you do something to your hair?" She has an intent gaze on your ponytail, "It's a little bouncy, I guess."

You swallow slowly. She managed to notice.

"You're more striking, if that's even possible," the brunette elaborates. "Your features, your eyes, there's this new thing about them. Haven't you noticed?"

Features? Eyes? That's new to you, too. You shake your head at once, "Zat is strange. I only feel well rested."

"Your pheromones aren't the same either, Fleur," she murmurs, leaning in subtly to take a deep breath with her eyes closed. "I think there's more than almonds, now."

"Really? Perhaps zey are a bit flowery?" you ask in a hopeful tone.

"No, I don't smell flowers," she says slowly, bringing your expectations down. And then the Gryffindor breaks down the possibilities, "It's fresh, rather wild. Not as sweet as the almonds, nor citric. Er, not pungent or anything unpleasant, either... Maybe woody describes it better. I... I'm not very good at this, sorry."

You nod in silence, mentally registering all the information she's offered. A single fingertip runs over the hem of the long sleeve of your blazer, disengaging shortly after meeting the bare skin on your hand. Her warm touch brings your thoughts back from the sanctuary of your mind and you find her serious face.

There's concern lacing her voice. "What was going on earlier?"

It takes no more than one guess to know what she's talking about. The answer is already falling from the tip of your tongue, "Viktor wanted to talk to me... about you."

The brunette seems shocked, "Why?"

"I do not know." Your brow crinkles up and you make an effort to filter out the annoyance from your voice, "My friend called me before 'e 'ad a chance to say."

"He's usually very shy. I've never seen Viktor talking to anyone outside his school," she murmurs. "So odd."

"And very awkward, too," you add. Sighing, at last you give air to a particularly vexing question, "Did 'e say anything to you?"

"Me? No, we haven't talked since last week." You watch closely as an earnest tone marks every one of her words, "I told you I stopped the act to the fan club, didn't I?"

The sequence of nods is a slow one, even though you believe her without doubt, "Oui, I remember."

"Please, don't make that face," the brunette says with an innocent smile. "It's probably nothing. He's a good guy. He even took the fake break up really well."

You can see she believes that. Too bad it isn't as easy for you to agree after what you saw in his face a moment ago, just as it isn't easy to hear her standing up for him so plainly.

Perhaps this is a good moment to push for a change of subject. "'Ermione, is ze book on Veela wiz you?"

The girl frowns, temporarily at a loss for words. Her stare glides from one of your eyes to the other, devoting a good amount of time to read your expression.

After the careful pause, she takes a firm step closer, moving into your personal space, and whispers, "It makes you uncomfortable when I talk about him, doesn't it?"

The stricken look on your face probably answers the question on its own, but you know she wants to hear you say it. And what else can you do, except tell her? She's entitled to the truth, after all.

"I cannot 'elp myself, but it does."

Her voice becomes even weaker, "Why?"

Your eyes flick to the ground until you choose words that won't seem too much. Images from last year, the Yule Ball and the holidays rewind in your mind. Heavy memories filled with anxiety and distress. "You 'ave some 'istory together, non? It is 'ard to ignore."

Before you can say anything else, she holds your hand and the sad shadow over her eyes makes your heart squeeze. "Do you believe me when I tell you I'm not interested in him?"

"Oui," is your simple reply, which sounds more confident than you really feel. Better keep it simple, short and to the point, than risk chocking on words. The major problem, anyway, is the _other_ part of the equation. That boy doesn't look like he's over her at all.

The hand drops apart, but her stare remains relentless on your face, drawing out the shared moment. You realize she's deliberately turning a blind eye to everyone and everything else, even though you're talking this close and basically in a Hall overflowing with students now. "And you know it's the complete opposite with you, right?"

"Of course," you exclaim with better determination. This one was a lot easier to answer.

The words, her attitude and that heartfelt look won't wipe out those memories. No, they never will. Nothing can do that. But said memories belong in the past, while the brunette in front of you and all that she's doing are a part of your present. And they open possibilities for the future.

The left corners of her lips rise in a half-smile, "You don't have to be mad, Fleur. Just tell me if there's something bothering you and we'll deal with it, okay?"

"Mm-hmm. I 'ope you do ze same, 'Ermione," you smile, and sort of draw her into a compromise, too.

More students arrive from the Grand Staircase and, little by little, many groups start to drift into the Great Hall. It soon becomes a troublesome task to listen to each other over the rumble of voices.

"That's just about fair," she agrees, coiling an arm around your right elbow. It's a very practical way to stay close enough to avoid shouting, while also shuffling along to lunch.

"And, uhm, you shouldn't turn a conversation one eighty degrees to drop an unpleasant discussion like that," she admonishes shyly, as if unsure of being at liberty to do it.

"Well," you smirk now, speaking almost directly into her ear, "zat was a legitimate request, actually."

"Oh?" she asks in surprise.

You nod and go on, "I would like to check a few pages on zat book, if you do not mind. Can I see it? Zis will not take long."

Hermione bites her lip again, "Sorry, Fleur, but I don't have it here. It's in my trunk. Would you like to go with me and get it now?"

You see Harry, Ronald and Fierce-girl laughing and trying to cut through the thick crowd towards Hermione. They'd probably planned to sit together during the meal.

The boys wave at you from their distance and you nod in response, but Hermione has her back turned to them and misses their approach. The ginger girl, however, freezes at the sight of a calm brunette linked by the arm with you. The smugness you feel at that just made your day.

As if hit with a wide-reaching Summoning Charm, the large gathering moves as one towards lunch. You get mentally ready to stay in line for a while and be patient with some jamming, too. Hermione's friends are caught up in the crowd and raise their hands, signaling they'll go straight inside.

Lowering your gaze to Hermione again, you consider her tempting offer, "It would be an excellent excuse to stay longer wiz you, 'Ermione, but we might be late. Zis can wait, it is not urgent. Your friends are pointing at ze Great 'All. I zink zey mean to warn you zey will meet you zere."

"I can bring it down for dinner," she volunteers, waving her hand at them. "Would that work for you?"

"Zat would be great," you reply, with a wide smile. "Merci."

Searching the mass of students at your back, Alix and Cora are at the lead of the Beauxbatons group and blending in with the Ravenclaws. You should be with them, but you won't be able to go against the heavy current of people, so plan B - meeting them inside - is a more reasonable option.

When you step through the doorframe, scrumptious smells are already wafting from the generous plates of food. The students are joyfully sitting down at their tables, and there's a significant muffling of noises on this side of the doors.

The chatting still going on isn't as perceptible as it was in the Entrance Hall, and the softer chink and clatter of cutlery is taking over. That is the best confirmation that many have stopped talking in favor of the delicious meal.

Your empty stomach starts to ache and you can't wait to find your place and correct that. Hermione's friends are heading for the Gryffindor spot and calling her. You feel her arm releasing you and get ready to see her go, when a dreamy voice right ahead makes a curious remark.

"Oh, look, such an unusual bird. Is he lost?"

It comes from Luna Lovegood, and you follow her indication high up to the wooden truss of the ceiling. There it is, a small and quiet bird, watching the students below.

"How strange. Isn't that a falcon?" Hermione asks in amusement.

The bird hovers in circles close to the roof, setting down on a different spot to continue its search. The bluish-grey feathers on the back and wings, and the buff-stained head and front are unmistakable.

"Oui. A Merlin falcon," you reply.

A Huntress' bird. No wonder it looks so lost in the school. This messenger probably never made a delivery to one of the students.

Taking your wand out, you transfigure the soft fabric of your right sleeve to turn into leather, from elbow to wrist. You remove your cap to show yourself better, raise your left hand when the bird is turned your way, and then snap your fingers. The falcon swoops down at once with a shrill cry, soon landing on the improvised perch you've offered him.

Luna follows his descent and smiles at him, until a Ravenclaw her age passes by and invites her to go sit together.

There's a small roll of parchment tied to one of the Merlin's legs and Hermione collects it. You rearrange the small hat over your hair and then stroke the trembling bird's head, calming it down as he takes in the large number of teenagers moving about.

The brunette examines the parchment carefully and you realize something has caught her attention. Taking a peek, you see there's an unconventional sealant locking the letter, like a small swirling mist, at times almost transparent, but mostly solid-looking and gleaming in different colors.

Hermione slides a fingertip over the strange spot and her hand jerks away with a groan. There's pain and surprise in her face. It fills you with concern.

"What 'appened? Did it 'urt you?"

"I'm okay. That was... an electric shock," she says, holding out her finger. "My skin went numb."

That doesn't make sense. If this is what you think it is, there shouldn't be anything dangerous about it. After little consideration, you reach your free hand around the brunette and touch the same area gently. Soft tingles play on your skin and you smile at the familiar sensation.

"It is not an electric discharge. Zat is Veela magic. I zink zey used a special protective measure to recognize ze same pattern," you reason. "Zey wanted to make sure I would be ze one to open zis."

"So this bird really is from them," she says, carefully mouthing the 'them'. The girl had suspected its origin from the start.

She continues, mumbling under her breath, "I wish I knew why they're surrounded by so much secrecy."

You couldn't agree more.

Behind closed eyelids, you try to repeat the slow and controlled change as it happened with Guilles. A fresh trickle of magic spreads out to your hands, only this time faster and stronger than you intended.

The Merlin flaps his wings, though he doesn't take flight, and pecks your glove lightly. Somehow, you know he's acknowledging your inner shift, and soon the anxiety is ebbing away faster from the little creature.

Smiling, you open your eyes again and whisper in a language he should be used to, "_Thank you for delivering their message._"

The bird blinks a few times, bobbing his head back and forth sharply, like he's nodding.

You frown and tilt your head, saying some more, "_This castle is very different from the woods, isn't it?_"

More head bobbing. The falcon really seems to have understood every word you said, and it isn't exactly the same as your trained owl does. When he leans towards you and opens his beak, you feel suddenly nervous. Can this be an attempt at communication?

You stand still and hold your breath expectantly, until another typical soft cry is all you can hear, and you nearly crumble down in relief.

'Unprepared' is the best word to define your condition for hearing anything else. Too many changes at once can be overwhelming. The extent of any peculiar abilities should evolve slowly so you have time to absorb each one. For your own sanity's sake.

"You don't look too good," Hermione points out in an urgent whisper. "And your eyes are silver. Are you feeling well?"

You nod hastily and set your thumb on the seal, dissipating magic through your skin. The effect is so evident that even before you're done, Hermione's eyes are gleaming with excitement.

The round material starts to swirl faster and faster, until it gives off a soft white glow, and seeps into the parchment. You're now looking at a standard wax seal, roughly the size of a galleon, where two mountain peaks, an overhanging moon and three stars are neatly in display.

The girl studies it carefully, "I don't recognize this."

"Zat is ze crest of ze Calenica Clan, ze view from ze entrance to zeir village," you say, struggling to reel in the ripples of magic. Perhaps it's because of your momentary anxiety, but this time it isn't happening as effectively as it should.

"Anca," she says, tearing through the seal to open the letter.

When Hermione unfurls the parchment, a small bluish-grey feather is released from the roll, floating away before she can hold it securely. You immediately summon it back with your free hand, using the magic so readily at your disposal.

And then your cheeks nearly burst in a heavy blush when you notice Hermione's wide eyes and hovering eyebrows.

"Fleur, did you mean to show that here?" she whispers, hiding the feather and checking if anyone else witnessed your feat.

"Non, I went for ze feather, but I did not zink about where we were," you explain lamely, also looking around.

There are still many students moving through this area, but no one seems interested, you're glad to establish. Right from the bottom of your self-conscious and awkward moment.

It takes a bit more of a struggle, and the surge of magic apparently tones down. The falcon pecks your glove again and you pat his head before looking at the brunette.

"Well, I think it's alright," she says with a calmer expression. "The food must be so good today that nobody even saw you."

Now, _that's_ something you can't complain about. "I 'ave ze 'ouse-elves to zank for it."

"Slave work," she grumbles, shaking her head. The brunette sees the odd look on your face and takes things in a different direction, "Don't forget you still have to show me how you do that."

"I will," you promise. "We 'ave ze weekend ahead."

She nods and lifts the parchment in a way that you can read it together.

'Dear Mss. Fleur Delacour and Hermione Granger, and Messrs. Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter,

Thank you for such a gratifying meeting. May this message find you well rested and thriving with your academic activities.

Our journey was a calm and uneventful ride. More of our comrades joined us along the way, and we arrived home as a very large group. The Forbidden Forest is still as beautiful at night as I can recall.

New circumstances arose at the village, and they will require careful attention for a few days. Our next visit should be scheduled shortly.

To Fleur, in particular, I would like to reinforce that the offer of company and advice will not expire during her stay at Hogwarts. We expect notice anytime that her decision has been reconsidered.

Yours sincerely,

Anca Calenica

PS: This is Peppy, a tercel that has been with Katalin for many years. He is a very capable messenger. Fleur can send for him through the feather attached in this parchment. He will know how to find her.'

"_So that's your name. Hello, Peppy. This is 'Ermione... and I am Fleur,_" you tell the bird.

The falcon looks at both of you and utters another shrill cry.

"_Are you hungry?_" you continue, and Peppy snaps his head from left to right a few times.

The brunette cuts in, looking intrigued, "What are you saying?"

"I introduced us both and I just asked if 'e wanted to eat. I zink 'e meant to answer 'no'," you reply.

"He's such a beautiful bird," she says, rubbing his back in long downward strokes to keep from ruffling his feathers.

"_Did you hear that? She thinks you're beautiful, too,_" you address the Merlin, who blinks at Hermione and bobs his head a little_. _"_You can go home now, so they know we received your post_."

Peppy then spreads his wings once more and you raise your hand to give him some impulse. In an agile flutter, he's already soaring high and leaving the Great Hall.

"They made it," the brunette says in a light tone.

"Oui. And went straight into some tough situation, it seems," you reply, rereading the letter. It leaves you curious, wondering what are the new circumstances taking place there.

She nods, "They must be used to a lot of ups and downs. You said that life isn't the same for them."

"It is ze truth," you shrug. "My village is not any different."

The brunette reveals the falcon's loose feather, rolling it between her thumb and index finger by the quill, and then hands it to you, "They wanted you to have this. It was very thoughtful, to make sure you have a way to reach them. And you're the only one here who can use it. That's kind of cool."

You smile and store it into the outer pocket of your blazer. "Merci."

"Harry, Ron!" she exclaims.

You look up from the sleeve you're untransfiguring and see her friends a few feet away.

The brunette smiles at them, "I thought you'd started without me."

"I wouldn't, Mione." Harry says, and then Ronald comes into full view, displaying puffed out cheeks while chewing frantically. "And, erm, Ron tried to resist the food. He said it was too good to wait so much."

Before Hermione has time to process that into an answer, the boy goes on, "We saw the bird. Was it from, you know, _them_?"

The two friends trade a knowing look and Hermione nods, "Uh-huh. Anca sent us all a letter."

Apparently, his tactic worked and distracted the girl from making any remarks about Ronald. That's when you notice the ginger becoming so purple around you that it crosses your mind he might've just choked badly and could be on the verge of fainting.

"Are you okay, Ronald?" you whisper in concern, shaking him by a shoulder.

Which is something you quit doing when Hermione crosses her arms and scowls, "Honestly, Ron?"

It has no effect. The red headed Gryffindor is stuck in a terrible gape, until Harry pinches his arm. Quite harshly, considering the degree of rotation.

Ronald wails in pain, rubbing the abused spot. He looks at Harry, takes in Hermione's scowl, and then shyly glances at you, but his gaze quickly drops to the floor. With flaming red ears, he spins on his heels and nearly runs away into the swarm of students.

Harry and Hermione are as surprised as you are, but the Gryffindor champion regains his wits faster, "Uhm, Ron hasn't been feeling too good."

"Oh, I see," you reply. Of course you don't buy it. You're simply too unwilling to make a fuss over this.

For some reason, Ronald has always been particularly sensitive to your charms. You recall that his reactions to your presence were superlative last year, to a point where he landed himself in foolish situations and couldn't do any better.

But just like the rest of the school, he got better in time. The constant exposure helped him develop a good resistance. And it was a plus that the boy hadn't shown any unusual signs since the Yule Ball.

Until now. Now he's at it again. The charms are changing and they have grown stronger. Ronald's sensitivity puts him right in the line of fire, one of the first that would manifest a relapse so plainly.

You sigh. This is only the beginning. Others are bound to be just as enthralled. It appears you'll have to deal with all that. Again.

"Fleur, can I take this to show Harry and Ron?" Hermione asks, holding out the roll of parchment.

"Certainly," you agree, realizing your friends are already sitting down for the meal. "It is getting late and ze day will be a rush today. We should 'ave lunch, non?"

"Yeah," Harry nods, staring as many students gather generous servings on their plates. He then glances at you, "Bye, Fleur, and thanks. I had a lot of fun yesterday."

"We all did, 'Arry," you smile. "Bye, 'Ermione."

"Later, Fleur," the girl replies. She looks ready to say more, but shakes her head and goes after the boy.

You raise a hand so Alix notices where you are and she beckons for you to hurry up. It's a bit easier to move through the Great Hall now, and you're soon taking your place at her side.

"Can you pass me the pie, Fleur?"

You examine the plates and bowls around to learn where everything is, and hand the right one to Yvonne, sitting opposite you.

"Everyone should try it. The elves make a killer shepherd's pie," the blonde says conversationally.

You follow her suggestion and help yourself to a sizeable portion, with some very colorful salad on the side. Who knows? The icy pumpkin juice might even agree with the meal today.

One forkful later and you're humming away a wholehearted approval. Yvonne chuckles from across the table, and you see the blonde is making the most of her meal as well.

Undeniably, the food fulfills all the expectations you had. It's simply scrumptious, and the uncommon silence in your group forgoes explanation. You take your time, cut the vegetables and the pie neatly in small bits, and then chew carefully, drawing as much flavour as you can.

"Was zat a tardy post?" Alix asks out of nowhere.

You look at her with a peaking eyebrow.

"I saw you get ze bird," she says, adding a significant smirk, "wiz some friendly company."

"Oui. Fresh arrival," you answer in-between bites.

"Good news?" she drills on, and you see she's making an effort to get a conversation going. "_Zey_ look very interested."

You follow her suggestive stare all the way to the Gryffindor table, where three students are hunched over something that the brunette in the middle is holding on her lap. No need to take a guess.

"It was only a small message, nothing much," you drone on, still unwilling to forward any information concerning the Veela.

"I'd never seen a bird like that here," Cho Chang, at Yvonne's side, tangles into the chat, unaware of Alix's current frown.

"Really? I 'eard zey are very common in Scotland, ze falcons. Eagles and owls too, but zey are not easily seen in ze winter," you counter. With a friendly expression, you seize the opportunity for a change of subject, "We 'ave not talked lately, Cho. What is up wiz you? 'Ow are zings wiz Cedric?"

"They're great, thanks. We get along so well," she replies with a sweet smile. "I'm counting the days until the next Hogsmeade weekend. It'll be our first date outside the school."

At the mention of 'date', a few more heads turn to listen in. It's a word that never fails to conjure interest out of thin air.

"I zink you look cute together," you compliment the girl. "So, please tell me, 'Ogsmeade is a good place to go on a date?"

And that gets the conversation going, as now many of the girls currently dating trade remarks, praises and a bit of gossip, too, about their experiences at the small village and its many shops and pubs. By unspoken consensus, exams and studying are absolutely banned from entering into the conversation.

"You're getting better at evading me," Alix mumbles under her breath, in French. "Nice going with the tip on 'Ogsmeade. Are you planning a date anytime soon?"

"Just drop it. Please," you reply in a low and rather final way.

"No, I won't," she counters with a smirk, and you see she's getting ready to stand her ground. "I'm trying to talk to you, here."

You shake your head and seek out another friend. Game on.

"I saw Iordan today, Lou-Ann. Ze uzzer day, _Alix_ was telling me," you intone a bit louder than necessary, adding an airy inflection, "zat your boyfriend is not only 'andsome, but zat 'e seems to be very athletic. She asked something and I was not sure... I zink she still wants to know, is 'e a Quidditch player, like Viktor?"

Everyone looks at Alix and you smile innocently at the girl, whose eyes nearly pop out when she finds herself to be the center of attention.

She corrects her gape and turns to Lou-Ann, "Uhmm, I-I was curious. 'E 'as ze right physical build."

Lou-Ann nods and indulges her straight away, sharing in an elated voice, "'E is a Beater at Durmstrang and zey are on ze same team. Viktor says 'e is one of ze best to 'andle ze bludgers. It is a pity we cannot see zem play 'ere."

"I agree, it's been a while since I last went to the pitch. The Triwizard Tournament changed our routine this year," Cho Chang adds her two knuts. "There are four teams in Hogwarts, one for each House. We used to practice for hours, through rain and snow. It was a blast. And there were official matches to win the Quidditch Cup. I wish you could've watched the House Championship." The Ravenclaw girl smiles at the friend at your side, the one with the overly-teasing vibe, and does you a favor without knowing it. "Cedric and I are Seekers for our House teams. Do you play, too, Alix?"

There. Problem neutralized.

You smirk into your goblet as Alix becomes tied up in long explanations of the Quidditch matches at Beauxbatons.

It's going to cost you later, but you're willing to pay the price. All you have to do now is sit back and listen to the harmless chatter. _And_ pretend not to notice Alix's formidable glares at you.

Oh, well. Lunch time should be about over soon, anyway.

There's a sprout of loud giggling to your left and you idly seek the source, looking around. Luna is halfway down the table, reading her father's magazine upside down in silence, as usual, enclosed by a group of younger Ravenclaws that is nearly rolling on the floor with fits of laughter, listening to Cora and one of her infamous tales.

You lift the goblet for another taste of the orange juice, and catch Yvonne glancing at the same scene. A small frown is in display, but if you know what to look for, so are a bit of sadness and a lot of yearning. You almost roll your eyes at the girl.

To widespread surprise, in that moment the Applebee girl shows up and interrupts the lively chat, offering a short announcement. "Professor McGonagall expects us in classroom thirty-four this afternoon, on the third floor. Don't be late."

And then she's gone to the Gryffindor table, while you look at each other and check the time.

It takes a combination of shrugging, groaning and mumbling for the senior students to acknowledge the meal is over and stand up. You among them, of course, and getting ready to file out of the Great Hall as fast as possible to maintain a healthy distance from Alix.

But one thing keeps you from doing that: Yvonne is resolutely walking in the opposite way, up to the staff table.

That's curious. Your stare follows the blonde girl as she seeks out Professor Snape for a short conversation. You wonder whether to be a part of that, but the blonde seems to have it all under control. And being within Snape's grasp isn't the most appealing thing just yet.

As soon as they break apart, she spins and narrows her eyes while looking at your group, grinning at last when she sees you are waiting for her. The blonde waddles at you, this way and that, flawlessly moving through the students now leaving the Hall, not bumping on anyone.

You fidget with the wrinkles on your sleeves, considering quietly what might be going on, and run a hand through your ponytail. That particular activity results in more loose strands caught up in your fingers (which you had temporarily forgotten about until now), and it does nothing to improve your nerves.

At least Yvonne doesn't make you wait long, and the excited Ravenclaw is soon clinging to your right arm, "I talked to Snape."

"Oui, and you look positively beaming," you say, hiding a twinge of distaste the best you can, while pulling her to trail after the rest of your classmates. "'Ow can zat be possible?"

"Guess what! He said we are allowed to go to his classroom before dinner and set up our things," she says smartly. "Do you know what that means?"

"Hmm... Non?" you ask, puzzled with the blonde's high spirits.

"We get to pick all the ingredients, collect the tools, and get our table ready ahead of time," she tries again.

"And you are so cheerful because...?" you still ask, struggling to see what's so great about rushing awkwardly into an on-going class to set up your table, when it can be done orderly right after dinner, in silence and in private.

"Fleur, that way we won't stay there a minute more than necessary. Haven't you heard? The dungeons are freezing at night," the blonde replies with a shudder.

"Oh... Right. I 'ad forgotten we will be staying very late," you say, with drooping shoulders. The farthest part of your brain starts to estimate how many warming charms you'll need to do to get through the potion. "But we will not 'ave much time, Yvonne. Professor McGonagall only lets us go ten to fifteen minutes before ze bell rings."

"That's why I came up with a plan," she continues as if she had anticipated it all along. "If we do things just right, and explain that we have Snape's permission to prepare for the potion, she might release us sooner. The one thing we have to do is stay in her good graces."

You look at her confident demeanor, and get ready to go up the Grand Staircase, "And I assume you already know just 'ow to do zat?"

"Sure. Let's stick close to Félicie," she says, and you can tell she had the answer ready to roll from her tongue. The blonde must've put a lot of thought behind this. "She and I will come up with some profound scholarly discussion, then you impress McGonagall with your grand wandwork, and... voilà."

You shake your head, but a small smile sneaks out just the same, "I see you are a shifty one, Miss Bampton."

"Fleur, you haven't seen what I'm capable of, yet." The blonde positively simpers. "Cheer up. Today we'll show Snape how that potion is done. And I suspect you'll have more reasons to like my plan _before_ we go to dinner."

Your inquiring expression receives only laughter as reply, and the girl abandons you to go after Félicie. Probably, to set another part of that plan in motion.

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

A little liberty was taken with Nostradamus' quatrains. The bits and pieces used in the fic are for fun purposes only, and in no way related to their original intention (proved or assumed, according to the many interpretations attributed to his work). Please, read them in the context of the story. This is not intended to prove or disprove Mr. Nostradamus, nor to bother anyone who is a firm believer of what he published. In the few scenes where 'Damus' makes an appearance, he will always be portrayed as a fantasy version of the famous Alchemist, which sustained magical injuries that meddled with his 'mind'.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: There were parts in this and the next chapter that were almost physically painful to write. I might have stumbled on the true meaning of 'writer's block'. Two small clumps of less than 1k words each took me a very long time to sort. I'd been so happy that a long chapter would be out faster, but at the final edit something didn't click. So I nearly broke my brain to correct the first bit (see how painful that seems?), and when that was fixed, it made a second part fall out of context, so I had to work on it, too.

Add some personal matters, and here we are, at last, with an update. Not proud, I tell you, but still here.

And thankful to all that read and contribute in a way or another. I couldn't answer to all who reviewed the last chapter. I'm on my way to fix that.

* * *

><p>Chapter 11.<p>

"'Ow nice to see you 'ere, brave sir."

At the sound of Emeline's airy voice, you lose interest in the many portraits you'd been watching quietly and glance up, to look for the pale girl. There's that soft creak and rumble in the background, as another flight of stairs is set in motion, changing the connections from floor to floor.

You see her a few steps ahead, just past the first-floor landing of the Grand Staircase. And realization hits that you hadn't been aware of Emeline's presence through lunch, even though you were all concerned about her whereabouts earlier in the morning. Lately, she has been going unnoticed a lot.

"Good morrow, my lady!" is the peculiar and loud answer, right from a large picture in front of her.

"You look well today, sir, riding your pony," the girl continues cordially, coming to a stop to better engage in conversation.

"A fiery - hic - steed, good lady!" the male voice cries.

Cora, Lucie and Reva interrupt their progress to gather around Emeline, while Alix is so curious that she actually backtracks to join in, leaving Yvonne and Félicie to their discussion, now held close to the second floor. Very little later, you reach them and blend at the back of the group, inspecting the picture, too.

It's a wide painting, featuring a tract of cultivated land - apparently a vineyard - and an old cruck house farther away. Some festive folks are dancing at the center, and there's a troupe of musicians to the left, playing a lively tune with flutes, drums, a bagpipe, and a few string instruments that you can't make heads or tails of.

"Who are you talking to, Emeline?" Reva asks in a whisper, just as unsure as all of you are about the other partaker in the dialogue.

Through the corner of your eye you see Yvonne and Félicie hopping down the stairs as they are calling out Alix's name. They soon become intrigued by the scene, sticking their heads in any crack between the other girls to steal a glimpse.

"Zat is Sir Cadogan, a knight wiz King Arthur and ze Round Table," Emeline explains, indicating somewhere to the right side of the picture.

That's where you see a fat and very mottled grey pony, grazing lazily as his tail swooshes to and fro. The animal is turned the other way, so his rider is desperately twisting on his saddle to keep Emeline in view.

With a mighty tug on the reins he finally achieves an improvement, though wobbling dangerously in the process, and the pony pivots into a better position.

Now you can see a knight in shining armour, short and stocky enough to fit in perfect proportion to the size of his mount. There's a long sword at his waist and he slowly raises the visor of the helmet to reveal himself.

"Zese are my friends, sir," Emeline mentions softly, showing you off with a wave of her hand. "We are all guests 'ere, from a foreign land."

"Good greetings, gentle ladies," the knight's booming voice roars, making you all jump.

He bows gallantly, and his visor immediately clanks shut, muffling any further words. Alix and Félicie trade a humorous glance, but both refrain from making a sound. The knight corrects his faux pas with a slightly shaky hand and, following Emeline's lead, the group smiles back at him.

The pony looks thoroughly bored.

"You must 'ave good reason to be away from your own picture," the girl remarks, studying him carefully. "Are you, maybe, on a mission?"

"'Twere the monks in the third level, my lady. A barrel of fine ale, they said, and then back - hic - to my private lands," he yells proudly.

"But zis is ze first floor, Sir Cadogan," Emeline states with amusement. "Your painting is at ze top of ze castle. 'Ave you lost your way?"

The knight squints and rubs his chin thoughtfully, taking in his surroundings with a doubtful look. As if checking for landmarks, he guides his stare to the stairways and the portraits higher up in the tower.

This distracts you from watching him and you realize your assembly is bottling up the passageway, slowing everyone else down. The English students take no interest in the painting in general, or the pony and Sir Cadogan in particular, and they slowly shuffle along. But you can't say the same for the Durmstrang seniors. Curiosity works quite a grip there, just as it did to your group, and their tall heads start to pop around, adding to the huddle.

At the sight of the boys towering and leaning over your group, the knight all of a sudden becomes very agitated and slams down his visor noisily. "Get back, you rascals! Back, you arrant rogues! Be gone from these lands!"

"Vy is he saying that?" one of the boys whispers in a rather squeaky voice.

His answer is only silence. No one seems to understand the drastic change in attitude. Even Emeline looks taken aback.

After seconds that stretch for too long, Sir Cadogan impatiently removes one of his gauntlets and throws it down, close to the front hooves of his pony. A hollow clank announces that the metallic glove just landed on a rock. And from the sound alone, it's easy to guess how badly dented it must be now.

Cora lowers her head and pinches her nose to stop herself from laughing. It isn't very discreet of her, even if she's making an effort, and since watching her react like that is usually contagious, you fasten your lips in a tight line and look away as a precaution. The others in the group seem to be in better control, or perhaps they are all trapped between shock and surprise.

The pony, by the way, doesn't even flick his ears.

Ignoring the remains of his piece of armour, the scowling knight puffs out his chest and thunders aloud at the young wizards, "By my sword! Draw, if you be men! Stand and fight, you varlets!"

"He vonts to duel vith us?"

"I vos thinking it vos a joke."

"You mock me!" Sir Cadogan cries his outrage, raising the long sword high above his helmet, and then flails it in circles in an intimidating way. "For the honor of these good ladies!"

That earns him complete silence. The portraits around fall into a hushed, scandalized muteness. Your friends glance uncertainly at each other and you have the impression that all the students in the tower have stopped in their tracks to watch the riveting display.

"Away, you mangy dogs!" the knight hollers still, now swaying his sword up and down, hacking at the air.

Everyone is stunned, staring at the enthusiasm of his thrusts. Up and down, up and down, a quick arc, then left and right to change it a bit, and up and down again. And so on. And so forth. And more.

Until handling the heavy sword finally takes its toll, and Sir Cadogan starts to look increasingly sweaty and tired. He careens precariously on his perch, especially when his arms are most outstretched. And even this stalwart knight, with such a temper and vigor, must yield to the most basic laws of physics.

Such as gravity.

The knight topples over, crashing in a disheveled heap, as the sword escapes his grasp and slides away, carving a deep groove through grass and soil. At last, weapon and wielder become quiet and still.

The pony? Snorts and turns his back to the fallen man, snipping another mouthful of grass.

A cheerful Gryffindor boy, Tanner Van something-you-can't-remember, claps the Durmstrang seniors' backs to encourage them to get moving once more, while smoothing out any misunderstandings, "Don't mind Sir Cadogan. The brave act is part of his persona, and it goes stronger when he's had one too many."

The boy blurts in good humor, directly at the picture, "Loosen up, mate. We're only going to class, right by those monks and their fine ale."

"An escort, then, my ladies!" the knight exclaims with excitement, getting up and ignoring the chunks of grass clinging to the much less shiny armour. "If that be true, I shall lead the way."

Sir Cadogan goes after his sword, grips the handle and yanks without mercy. It doesn't budge.

He tugs and struggles, huffs and goes red, until a stronger pull yanks the blade free and sends the knight whirling backwards, unsteadily on his heels. He throws his arms out wildly for balance, then trips on his gauntlet and smacks right onto his pony's hindquarters.

Hard.

Needless to say, the poor beast went from peaceful stupor to loud shrieks, kicking and strutting away in offended indignation.

"Ah, well - hic," Sir Cadogan says in a deflated voice, raising his visor to look at the distancing image of his fleeing mount. "On foot it shall be, Lady Emeline!"

His sword points forward and he starts to run, disappearing through the right frame of the painting. From then on, he reappears in other pictures, with Emeline in close pursuit. "Sir Cadogan! Scabbard your sword. You can 'urt someone like zat!"

And so they go, up to the third floor - the knight skipping in and out of portraits, and the girl zigzagging around anyone in her way.

Unable to stay quiet any longer, a shaking Cora does a poor job of disguising her gurgling chuckles into a coughing fit. Reva's figure hides behind her, temporarily battling a similar predicament, and then the small girl pushes Cora ahead, to accompany her up the stairs. Félicie rubs her face with both hands, grinning, and the other girls mask their reactions better, although most seem to be smiling and a few are blinking away tears, just like yourself.

A good part of the students have their eyes trained on the unusual knight as they depart, resuming their way to the classroom, and the rest of the group breaks up when the bell rings. Soon, the Grand Staircase will abound in noise and movement.

"Oh, dear," Alix intones, as you watch the curious pair move away. "What did the monks slip into his ale?"

Lucie adds with eyebrows still way high, "Whatever it was, he had a lot of it."

You're still staring at the agile knight. "What if he's _always_ like that?"

You glance at each other and finally give in to a small bout of laughter, climbing the stairs together. Hogwarts never stops with the surprises.

"Vy vos he vonting to fight for them?" a Durmstrang student asks, half a stairway in front of you.

"Crazy man. He doesn't know ve vish to keep the honor of the ladies, too," Iordan speaks in a clear voice, baring a slightly resentful tone and curling an arm protectively around his girlfriend's shoulders. Lou-Ann just about swoons, leaning her head on the crook of his neck. The gestures give away the comfort and intimacy about them.

You shift your gaze elsewhere, trailing down the tower to watch the gaps between the staircases, and release a long, aching sigh. It never crossed your mind that one day you'd envy one of your friends.

All you think about now is the one person you would like to be holding like that, keeping to your own private world, even when surrounded by friends and enchanted portraits. Especially while you were in the middle of something as ordinary as a walk to classes.

It would be nice to have that, the simple things. A casual conversation in the castle. A sweet kiss when the mood hit. A chance to hold hands as you went anywhere, and to see her brighten up the way with a cute smile. To look at her with everything that you feel and not a care or concern over who might be watching.

Hermione should experience all that, particularly for a first relationship. It should be a good one for her.

You remember the earlier incidental episode with the Krum champion and your head starts to throb. No. That relationship should also be with _you_, who really want this, and really care for her. For _all_ of her. Her ideas, her feelings, her small hands, her concerns, her laughs, her magic, her obstinate hair, her presence, her curious stare...

Your heart cracks a little. Why are you missing her so much? You've just talked to her, before lunch.

Another sigh.

How much longer until you see her again?

Weak twinges of magic start to fill your hands, but you wring them together and fight it away.

You check the hour and frown.

How much longing can a person stand?

There's louder chatter now, coming from the lower levels, and more students start to scrabble up the stairs. You're tempted to search down, but you know she won't be anywhere to be found. The Gryffindor you want has double Potions this afternoon, at the dungeons.

Perhaps if Yvonne's plan works, you might get a glimpse of the brunette, and sooner than the usual prospect for a Friday afternoon.

"Are you still there?" Alix remarks at your side, interrupting your daydream. You nod and the girl continues when she's confident she has your attention, "I'll be generous. A whole _galleon_ for your thoughts."

Now you just have to smirk. There's nothing she can do or offer that will convince you to say more about Hermione today. You've told her enough.

Sir Cadogan's encouraging yells are still storming above, and the knight warrants the perfect subject for discussion. "It's strange, Alix, isn't it? This morning we didn't know where Emeline was, and she hasn't been sitting at the Ravenclaw table with us. I really can't remember talking to her in over a week... Can you?"

Her expression becomes serious. She probably hadn't foreseen this. "No."

"And she has the same schedule we do," you reason out loud.

"Except for Divination," she cuts in, glancing at you with her light greens. "She's the only one of us to sign up for those classes."

"Divination... I had forgotten that," you nod, considering the information. Now, _that_ is something you'd never do. You can't pluck a correct prediction from your brain to save your own life. "So, how weird is it that a knight in a portrait knows her by _name_? And he's willing to fight for her honor, too."

Alix shakes her head, "You're one to talk. Peeves' been your personal stalker since we set foot in 'Ogwarts. If I didn't know better, I'd suspect your Veela charms can lure him in."

You snort. "Please." Your mind goes through your last strife with the chaotic spirit, including a forceful soaking in icy water, balloons, and three Slytherin boys. Who later stole your sketch.

Alix's voice reels you back from another moment of abstraction, "I'm serious. That poltergeist makes up new pranks especially for you."

"This could never compare," you retort, rather emphatically. "Peeves goes out of his way to make my life the hardest he can. This knight, on the other hand, really likes Emeline. I'm sure you saw his concern, right before he went yelling all over the place. Perhaps there is something platonic going on, at least from his end of the deal."

"Yes, it could be," she concedes, shrugging. "And maybe that's Peeves' way to show affection, too."

"'Ogwarts forbid," you groan.

Alix laughs for a while, shaking her head at your expression. She finally bumps into your shoulder, jumpstarting the conversation, "What do you think of Sir Cadogan? I'd never seen him."

"The same goes for me, which is curious. I thought I knew this castle very well by now." You crease your brow in thought, "But I'm almost sure I've seen that pony before."

"Recognized by a pony," she says in jest, and you chuckle in cue. "That should take care of his ego."

The knight's yells are gone now, probably because he's reached the right corridor and left the stairs. You wonder if he'll be tempted to more of the monks' beverage after delivering the girl to class.

Alix is frowning slightly. "Do you think Emeline knows of our plans to study tomorrow?"

You shrug and shake your head, "No idea. We have to tell her."

"Yeah," she replies with a thoughtful expression, "I'll try to talk to her in class."

The third floor comes into sight and you hear a sharp cry ahead, instantly looking up. The stairs started to swivel again, and the latest issue of 'Transfiguration Today' has just zoomed before your eyes, sweeping down the steps. You can only assume it slipped from Reva's grasp, since the girl is giving chase, in a flurry to catch it.

Alix sends the warning just before it happens.

"Watch where you-"

Too late.

In a dive, her right foot sinks through the trick step, locking her in place. The girl loses her balance and the hold on her things, that scatter and fall through the handrails, to the void below.

Alix and you hurry to the brunette, pulling her out of the trap clutching her limb, and Lucie is already bending over the banisters, summoning her stray belongings. Yvonne and a pair of Durmstrang students are soon helping as well.

"Are you 'urt?" you ask, while Alix helps her sit down and studies her leg for injuries.

"Non, everything feels normal," the brunette replies, rotating her ankle testily and flexing her knee. "Actually," Reva confesses in a whisper, looking around with a small pout, "my pride 'urts a little. Does it count?"

You smile at the admission and Alix tops that with a good laugh, "I will 'ave to ask if Madam Pomfrey 'as something to 'elp wiz zat. Zere are only a few scratches 'ere. You will be fine."

Reva steals an anxious glance in the direction of the Durmstrang champion, who is at the top of the last flight of stairs, and blushes helplessly, although the boy appears to have missed the accident. When she stands again, her things are returned slowly, and the brunette looks equal parts grateful and concerned.

"Is ze journal still in one piece?" Reva asks. "Zat is a special issue. Félicie 'ad to discuss an article wiz Professor McGonagall."

"Looks brand new to me," Yvonne says, presenting the magazine with a wink. "I took care of all the dog-ears."

The brunette grabs the precious item with both hands, making sure it stays presentable, "Merci, Yvonne. Let me return zis right away. I am not taking chances wiz it anymore."

The stairs are reordered now and you'll have to go a few more ups and downs through the modified maze to find the right way. Reva bounds through the rest of the staircases, and dashes down the corridor, probably to catch Félicie as fast as possible.

Alix realizes Yvonne is getting ready to talk to you and excuses herself, "I will go after Emeline."

You nod and the blonde falls in step at your side. Once she's convinced no one is snooping, she reports in a hushed voice as you reach the corridor, "All set. Félicie agreed to give us a hand. I'll talk to McGonagall when we get there."

"Okay, we can do zis," you remark in an optimistic tone, getting ready to play your part in the Ravenclaw's plot.

Your mind skims through the latest transfiguration spells that you might need to perform in front of the professor, and you start to make simulations, moving your wrist in sync with the incantations mumbled under your breath.

Professor McGonagall and Félicie are standing outside the classroom, leafing with interest the magazine you'd seen tumbling down the stairs moments ago. The girl was probably warming things up for your arrival, and there's a quick nod at Yvonne as soon as she sees you.

The blonde doesn't need a second hint and goes straight to the professor, striking up a conversation. You follow Félicie inside, greeting the elder witch as you pass.

This classroom has seldom been used by the Transfiguration professor, at least with the senior students. There are huge windows behind the professor's desk, very high ceilings, elegantly carved white stone walls and a perfectly smooth floor. Even soft whispers can cause remarkable echoes in the handsome chamber.

On the few times you were here, the location had been reserved for long practice sessions, since it's larger than regular classrooms, and there's very good natural lighting. It gives you an inkling on what to expect today.

At last, the professor strides in, directly to her desk, where she takes off her hat, organizes her things, and then whips her wand at the blackboard. No longer entertained by the small talk from a couple of Slytherin girls discussing plans for the incoming weekend, you look at Yvonne. The blonde just sat down with a jolly expression, and does a well-hidden double thumbs-up gesture at you. You smile back.

"Settle down," the Head of Gryffindor House starts, instantly gaining control over the class. "Good afternoon. Next week you will sit another exam, in preparation for your NEWTs. I need hardly stress the importance of Transfiguration in your future. The hard work you put in now will reflect in the career choices in store for you."

A few students shift anxiously in their seats, and the professor takes a long look around, until the class falls silent again.

"The performance of our senior students has been satisfactory this year," she says, with a rare and quick smile, "I suggest we spend the afternoon practicing. You will not be taking notes today."

Surprised and gleeful looks take over the classroom.

The professor goes on. "Divide yourselves in groups of three or four. There are several spells listed on the blackboard. The column on the left is for all to practice now, during class. Several times, if you must, until they are done properly," she states in a no-nonsense, stern voice, pinning a hard stare on a handful of students. "Each group shall also choose one of the more complex spells on the right column, and prepare a demonstration for the end of the class.

I will go from group to group and watch your spell work."

You glance at the choices of spells, and then smile at Félicie and Yvonne. There couldn't be a more perfect class for your intent.

"This is a good opportunity to ask any lingering questions you might have on these Transfiguration Spells. After this exam, the class will advance to Conjuring and Human Transfiguration Spells, which are about to become more difficult," Professor McGonagall remarks very seriously, looking at the class over the top of her spectacles. "Now, let me see you move the desks orderly, to make room for the groups. Wands out, if you please."

Everyone stands up and, soon, desks and chairs are floating to the back of the classroom under her stringent scrutiny. The groups slowly start to appear, shaping up as predictable combinations of friends and acquaintances.

You've just set down the last desk in your row, when in a perplexing move, Viktor Krum glances your way and waves his hand, inviting you over. Staying where you are, you point at the other three girls close by. He nods as he realizes you already belong in a complete quartet, and his disappointment is clear as crystal.

It's almost enough to make you curious and walk up to him.

Almost.

You shake your head, wishing those thoughts would just vanish from your mind. You don't need this right now. At least his fan club has missed it all. You can go without another judgmental glare from the likes of Miss Applebee. Frowning, you search your bag at random as an excuse to look away and seem busy.

Just as you pull out your Advanced Transfiguration book, Alix shows up to interrupt your awkward moment. "Whatever's happening, let it go. You can settle the score with Viktor later. Come on, Félicie and Yvonne are waiting."

You raise an eyebrow at her serious expression, "I have nothing to settle with anyone."

"You might be right," she says after hesitating and narrowing her eyes at the boy. "Maybe _he_ wants to settle the score with you."

If that was meant to shock you, Alix just missed the target by miles.

"It crossed my mind. I can't say I'm fond of the idea, but one has to speculate," you mutter in an unenthusiastic tone, absently fiddling your wand.

"Such terrible timing." She allows for a tired sigh and pats your shoulder, "Fleur, just stop being so touchy with the Viktor thing. You look like you want to wring his neck."

"Well, you saw how he was staring at 'Ermione before. And now he wants to have a talk with me," you retort in an accusatory tone, glancing at said boy to see if he's still far away.

He is.

You continue a little more calmly, "I can't find a single good reason to be all smiles to him."

"That's quite, uhm, understandable," she concedes, though shaking her head as if it wasn't an unanimous decision in her head, "but get a grip, okay? Yvonne said you are on a mission today, and I don't need to remind you that this is McGonagall's class."

"Why do I have the impression that you expect me to snap?" you whisper in reproach. Alix remains silent and you add with a shade of reluctance, "He came looking for me, so I will wait until he makes his move. And only then I will decide what to do."

Alix nods and you accompany her slowly to the rest of your group. Now at the other side of the room, Félicie and Yvonne are talking animatedly and pointing at the blackboard.

"That girl must be something special. Not one, but _two_ champions are after her," Alix chirps in with a slight chuckle, and you can tell she's trying to unwrinkle your mood. "You noticed there are two more left, didn't you? What if they get interested, too?"

You look at the way her lips curl into a smirk and all the seriousness of the conversation simply flies out the window. "Please. Cedric is taken, and 'Arry is like a brother to her."

She shrugs, more or less accepting defeat, but her curious side is in overdrive, "Any other relevant competition?"

"Do you really think I need more?" you complain. "Just look at him. Handsome, famous, quiet, something mysterious about him... Ask Reva, the list goes on forever."

"Yeah, tough contender," she grouses with little enthusiasm. "But only if she's into _that_," your friend flips her head in his general direction. "If she's into _this_..." her voice trails off as she sends a suggestive look up and down your figure. It might have been a compliment, if she hadn't used such comical exaggeration.

You purse your lips temporarily into a very thin line. "Big '_if_', hmm?"

"_Huge_ 'if'," Alix corrects. "Last time I checked, she was watching _you_ leave the Great 'All, not him."

As much as you don't want to waste more time on the boy, you shrug stubbornly. "I still have a problem with him," you declare, glancing at the champion one last time.

She laughs again as the other girls gesture for you to hurry. Noticing you're falling behind, Alix throws over her shoulder, "And before you think my memory has quit on me, don't you dare think we're even."

"What do you mean?" you frown.

"Remember lunch, Fleur?" There's a sly smirk on her lips. "Iordan, the Quiddith player, huh? When did I ever bring _that_ up?"

Unbidden laughter rocks your frame and you get moving, until you notice the professor just aimed a piercing stare at you, and the joyful moment immediately disintegrates from your face. A little voice in your brain recalls Yvonne's advice - stay on the professor's good graces.

Time to get to work.

You quickly join the girls and the group takes turns practicing each of the spells.

"'Ave you decided 'ow we are going to do zis?" you ask, checking the next spell on the list.

The blonde makes sure there are no eavesdroppers before answering, "We will do the talking, Fleur, and you can demonstrate the spell. McGonagall seemed favorable to help us."

You point at the right column on the blackboard, "Did you pick one?"

Félicie nods, "Ze best is the last spell. Yvonne says she knows ze zeory by 'eart and you can pull it off. Zat should earn some extra points wiz ze professor."

Yvonne begins the next round of spells, and addresses you again during her next interval. "Are you ready or do you need to practice?"

With a shaking head, you prepare your wand, "Non, it is fine. I 'ad a long time to practice during ze 'olidays. Let us finish ze uzzer spells."

And so you do. To expand the exercise, the group holds a brief discussion while doing each incantation, and Félicie contributes the extra bits of knowledge that she likes to research in her spare time. It's such an absorbing activity that neither in the quartet checks the developments in the other groups or notices the professor's appearance. Only when she speaks out loud do you realize you've had company for a while, since she takes you through slight suggestions to improve the last three spells you trained.

"Which special spell have you chosen?" Professor McGonagall asks.

The blonde volunteers, "Piertotum Locomotor, professor. Fleur will make the presentation."

"Very well," the professor says in approval, "and what can you tell me about that spell, Miss Bampton?"

Yvonne promptly starts a long description, from historical aspects of its inventor, to the meaning of the incantation, its purpose, the range of applications, known limitations, and the consequences of variations in wand movement. It's thorough and precise. When her explanation is over, the older witch looks satisfied.

"An adequate exposition," states Professor McGonagall, and it's a remarkable compliment, coming from her. "Can anyone else say more?"

The rest of the group explores further details until you've covered all you can, and then you are all subjected to a number of tough questions that you have to put your heads together to answer. Apparently, you seem to have fulfilled the professor's expectations, and she mentions curious facts about the spell that neither of you knew. From Félicie's thrilled look, those must be very obscure and rare.

'Hermione would be just as excited', you think, once again finding room for the brunette to wander in your mind. You sigh and shake your head.

"I have more students to see. Soon, the demonstrations will begin," the professor comments. Before she leaves, the stern woman looks at you, "Given your situation with Professor Snape, this group shall go first. The suits of armour will be ready, Miss Delacour."

"Merci, professor," you reply with a slight nod, as Mr. Filch enters quietly to deliver the many objects that the professor requested.

"Mr. Flarrytoon," the elder witch says tartly, drifting away, "you have three seconds to undo that rude modification to the statue or I shall place you in detention this weekend!"

Alix and Yvonne's stares track down said statue with a curious glint, while Félicie and you remain focused on the spells. You continue practicing, stopping at times to try out by yourself the wand movement of the one spell that would be unthinkable for you to flub up. No mistakes can be allowed today.

The class moves along quickly towards its final part, and at last, the professor invites you all to assemble in a very wide circle at the center of the chamber. She calls out your group to begin. Yvonne, Félicie and Alix summarize the basic topics about the spell while you go for the suits of armour, close to the professor's desk.

Once the explanation comes to a conclusion, you pull out your wand and perform the spell, saying the incantation in a clear voice. The suit of armour trembles once, acknowledging the hold of magic, jumps down from its socle, and then stands up, stiff and ready. With certain steps, it clanks its way towards the other three girls.

The imposing figure can be easily viewed by all now, and the class is instantly riveted. You command it to set shield and sword on the floor, and bend the knees slightly.

A few more words, combined with another twirl of your wand, and the suit of armour starts to run towards the students at the opposite edge of the circle.

Their panicked faces are priceless for a moment, until the metallic knight jumps ahead into a complex series of saltos and straddle splits. It lands and pauses in front of a girl who looks about to faint, then turns left with cartwheel after cartwheel, and continues bouncing and moving all around the outline of the circle, performing a gymnast's routine.

Once the overall shock has waned, the absurdity of the show settles in. Small smiles turn into rounds of giggles, and then many in the audience are having a hard time to keep a placid expression. Alix hits the suit of armour with a silencing charm to put an end to the loud clangs, and that makes it easier to hear the spontaneous laughter.

At the end the display, the metallic figure looks a little battered and worse for wear. Perhaps there should be some fine print stating that 'Olympic athlete' doesn't fall under the usual applications for enchanted suits of armour. You repair the minor blemishes with your wand, and then take a little more time to readjust the creaking joints with fast pulls and twists.

As you are getting ready to dismiss your acrobat from duty, Félicie whispers by your ear, "I just had an idea, Fleur. Think of Sir Cadogan mixed with the competition we went to see, summer before last." She twirls her wand and lifts an eyebrow, "Are you up for a challenge?"

You look at her, considering the invitation, then glance around at the students in formation, and finally seek Alix. Your friend smiles in an encouraging way and shrugs, as if asking what harm it could do.

Taking a deep breath, you smirk at Félicie, "Bring it on."

The girl chuckles, waves her wand and another suit of armour comes to life, approaching her. "Alix, you're in charge of musical effects."

Alix and you watch as the taller girl walks around the room to stand across from you, and positions herself behind her virtual knight. The suit of armour releases its shield and raises the unsheathed sword in front of its chest, awaiting instructions.

Finally fully understanding her intent, Alix takes a place at a different point of the circle, waving her hands to get the attention of the other girls from your school. You bring your suit of armour to stand in front of you, prepare its sword as well, and then nod at Alix.

The professor seems ready to object, but the girl begins to clap her hands in a slow rhythm and silence is restored. Recognizing the act, the rest of your delegation steps forward throughout the circle and clap along. As they intone a monotonous chant, Félicie and you deliver careful directives, and the suits of armour begin to move.

At first it's a simple tapping of one foot in sync, and then they are alternating paces in this and that way, spinning on the balls of their feet, and swirling their swords modestly in the air.

The song changes to a crescendo with a speeding beat, and soon the dance is less contained, the choreography more lively. The performers juggle their shiny weapons high up and catch them easily, sliding and pacing around, all the while gravitating closer.

Once within range, they start a simulated sword fight, keeping sweeps and draws just right, limbs and torsos at precise distance. It's all about staying in the grey zone of almost striking the opponent, never losing balance, and always daring further.

The chant evolves into a frenzy, and a larger part of the audience claps, too, cheering on the dancers. The fast movements are blurring together, harder to track now, metal crisscrossing the air as if these were real warriors in the heat of battle, fighting desperately for victory.

At last, everyone braces themselves when they each spring forward and swing a full arch right at the center of the circle, for a crossed clash of swords.

And then Alix claps her hands twice a final time, and the fighters freeze, the sharpness of their blades centimeters away, as the end of the song softly washes out in the large classroom.

Félicie and you lower your wands, and it takes a few seconds of stillness for the group to catch on that the performance is over. A burst of cheers breaks loose from the spectators, even Professor McGonagall is applauding merrily.

The suits of armour sheath their weapons, collect their shields and march back to their plinths. You levitate them to their original places and Félicie whispers a 'Finite' on each of them.

"Great work, Félicie," you smile at the girl, as you head for the circle again. "What an outstanding idea."

"It was so much fun, wasn't it? The professor was really smiling, I saw it," she says joyously.

"That was... decent, considering _you_ were in charge of the show," Alix remarks, walking over to meet you along the way.

You're about to thank her, but she treads on, in a mocking mood, "Obviously, there could've been more artistry, more _flair_. You know, a pirouette here, some flames there, a bit of aerials, fireworks. A classy show, girls."

You snort, and your attempt at speaking is interrupted again, this time by Félicie.

"Oh, don't start, Alix," the girl protests, through a roll of her eyes and a smile. "Next time you're welcome to do it by yourself."

A beaming Yvonne is expecting you, while receiving congratulations from a duo of Gryffindors, and waiting the next group to get ready for their exhibition.

Professor McGonagall strolls around the circle to help them, pausing at your side. "I must say, I was very pleased with your presentation. This group seems properly prepared." She adds with one of her tiny smiles, "I think that double dance number shall be remembered."

One of the students calls her away, and she quickly glances at Yvonne and you, "Professor Snape is waiting for you. Your classmates are to keep you informed of the other demonstrations. You may go now." The professor inclines her head to rake a more serious stare across the entire quartet, "I will be expecting high marks from all of you next week."

The group is still nodding when she takes her leave, off to retrieve something from her desk. Félicie and Alix don't waste time to send you away, escorting you to the door with a promise of saving you seats for dinner. And only outside, in the corridor, there's a chance to take it slow and check if you haven't forgotten anything.

Which you have.

"My book, I need to go back," you tell the blonde.

"I have it. Alix gave it to me when they were speeding us out," she retorts.

"Oh. Merci," you exclaim, taking it from her hands and loosing it into your bag. "You were right, Yvonne. McGonagall let us go."

"She was really pleased with us," Yvonne replies. "Félicie and Alix were brilliant."

That's when you notice the blonde is in no mind to take anything slowly, and you go faster in order to keep up. You finally understand her reasons when she explains urgently as you reach the stairs, "Fleur, let's hurry. I really, and I mean _really_, have to go to the ladies' room."

Nodding, you pick up the pace even more, nearly gliding down the Grand Staircase, though you remember to steer clear from the spot that caught Reva by surprise. "I will go wiz you. After all zat wand exercise, my uniform needs some care. And my 'ands are all sticky. I zink zat suit of armour 'ad been oiled recently."

Your last words bounce off the walls of the Entrance Hall while you stride right into the smaller stairway to follow Yvonne to the lower level.

"That'll be great. I don't like being alone anywhere in these dungeons," she whispers when you get there, walking at a minimum distance from you. "I got lost here in my first year. The nightmares I had..."

The way she shivers when she looks at the enclosing walls makes a strong case against the coziness of the entire underground tier.

An attempt to distract her seems to be a good idea. "Zat went very well. I zought she would not release us until just before ze bell rang," you start, sounding impressed, though also whispering. You've never been too sympathetic about the dungeons yourself. "Ze one zing zat is not clear is why you said I would like your plan better now. We will 'ave to meet Professor Snape before _and_ after dinner. Zat is too much in a single day for my liking."

"Why would you think it had anything to do with Snape? He never made it into my list of favorites, either." She stops in front of the bathroom door and smiles. Quite smugly. "Don't you know which students are in that class?"

"Oui. Ze fourth-years," you reply cautiously, shrugging it off as something obvious. "So?"

The blonde squints and looks at the ceiling, tapping a finger over her pursed lips. Decidedly, pretending to be in deep thought. "Mmmmm... And why is that relevant?" she asks to no one in particular, slowly pulling the bathroom door open. "Oh, I know. That's Potter's class, isn't it? And there's also that friend of yours, Miss Granger."

Your eyes narrow on the blonde, as you realize you're walking into a carefully designed trap. "Is zat ze big deal? My social life? I zought it 'ad to do wiz our potion."

"Well, don't get me wrong, Fleur. We have to do a flawless potion tonight. That's not an option, after our fiasco, right? We're under pressure to show results," she says, unfolding the inner workings of her hidden intentions. "Is there a better way to work than in the company of a _friend_? I think it's a good motivation. And I can test this theory I have, involving Miss Granger and you."

You raise an eyebrow to antagonize her as you whisk inside, shaking your head. It's pretty obvious you'll have to stay sharp if you are to avoid confirming her suspicions.

"Speaking of which..." you remark out loud, watching the very brunette standing there, by the sinks.

"'Ermione, please meet Yvonne Bampton, my partner in Potions," you continue after clearing your throat, stepping aside and waving a hand at the blonde girl at your back. You repeat the gesture the other way around. "Yvonne, zis is 'Ermione Granger, my _friend_."

Yvonne, noticing the brunette's disconcerted expression, smiles warmly and starts in an amicable manner, "Nice to meet you, Hermione. It's a pleasure."

It certainly helps to put the girl at ease.

"Nice to meet you, too, Yvonne," Hermione greets the taller Ravenclaw, stretching a smile as she speaks.

You wink at the brunette, in a way so Yvonne doesn't see you doing it, and Hermione chews her lip to avoid smiling more.

The Ravenclaw alternates a glance between Hermione and you, while handing you over her things. Realizing you're paying more attention to the brunette than the items being transferred, Yvonne rolls her eyes and leaves for a cubicle, chuckling unabashedly. You sigh as you watch her go. This might be harder to do with the blonde than you thought.

Once the senior girl is far from sight, you leave her articles and your bag on a countertop, and then head for the nearest sink. A good mixture of warm water and soap ensures your hands are well covered in white suds.

"'Ello, 'Ermione," you say happily, showing without reticence how pleased you are to be in her company. "What a coincidence to find you 'ere."

"We had a small accident at our table," she explains with a sad smile. "I needed some time to clean myself and calm down."

She brings her hands up for you to see the slight greenish tint on the tips of her fingers. You lean closer to watch.

"Hmm... Is zere a reason why you did not ask ze professor to vanish zis substance for you? 'E might 'ave cleaned your 'ands in time. I zink zat color 'as settled on your skin, and it will stay for a few days, now," you say in concern.

"It was Flobberworm Mucus, Fleur. Even if Snape vanished it all, I'd still want to wash myself," she shrugs, making an effort to hide the disgust from her face.

The slimy substance is, indeed, quite repugnant.

She quickly changes the subject. "You surprised me, walking through the door like that. I thought you wouldn't be in the dungeons so soon. What changed? And what is _that_ on your left hand?"

"Yvonne came up wiz a way for us to prepare our zings in advance, so we will not finish ze potion too late tonight. Professor Snape will let us stay in ze Potions classroom wiz you for a while," you tell her, rubbing your fingers together insistently.

"With us? What, now?" the brunette asks, with a delighted expression.

And that sticks a smile to your face. "Oui. And _zis_," you stress, scrubbing more soap, "is some kind of very zick oil zat was on a suit of armour, courtesy of Mr. Filch." You let some water remove the foamy coating to check your still oily fingers and glance at her, "'Ow is ze class going?"

"Pretty much the usual," she replies, bringing some green liquid soap from a farther container and pouring it on your hands. The brunette stays by your side with her arms folded, looking at you through the mirror. "Snape terrorizing Neville, Harry under stress, Slytherins being a bother."

You frown, drying up at last, "Zose would be... hmm... Mr. Malfoy and company, non?"

"Mm-hmm. Mostly him and his close friends, or bodyguards, whatever they are," the brunette agrees, taking out her wand to help you. "Ron lost his temper a couple of times already, and Harry had to stop him from tossing the ladle at them. Or maybe it was frog brains, I'm not so sure. That was when we had the spill on our table."

"Messy," you add absently while checking your appearance in the mirror and correcting the minor blemishes in your uniform.

"Maybe with you there it will be better," Hermione says in a wishful tone. "At least it's warmer than usual, with all the stewing potions," and she continues in a whisper, "and a few special charms."

You chuckle along, and then return thoughtfully, "What are you brewing today?"

"Antidotes," the brunette answers, lifting your ponytail as you rearrange the collar at your nape.

Her hands thread down the silky blonde twine. You freeze when you see she's gathering the loose strands caught between her fingers, but she doesn't notice your concern and releases them in a bin.

"Zose are tricky," you comment in a breath, advancing the conversation, "very delicate mixtures."

The girl nods, "Snape is breathing down our necks, repeating that. We're halfway through class and almost everyone is struggling to make it in time. It's a wonder there were no ugly accidents, yet."

That sounds like an accurate description of a potions class under Professor Snape's tutelage. Shaking your head, you check your reflection one last time, "Ze uniform seems right. What do you zink?"

Hermione gives you a long and appreciative look, very, very flattering. Apparently she approves, after removing a trifle of lint from the back of a sleeve that you hadn't seen.

"Merci. Now is _your_ turn," you claim, and direct her gently to a place away from the cubicles, to prevent being surprised by the Ravenclaw girl.

Wiggling your eyebrows with subtle mischief, you quickly tilt your head at where Yvonne went a little ago, "I zink zis is a better spot. Just in case."

Hermione nods, smiling.

With Yvonne away, you still have a few minutes on your hands to really pay attention to the brunette. You circle her once, as your stare roams up and down, taking in the condition of her clothes.

The clues you can spot tell the full story of how the Gryffindor must've been dedicated to brewing a difficult potion. No matter. You grip your wand. This is something you'd do anytime she needs.

The brunette follows your instructions and lifts her arms slightly, just enough to stretch out her sleeves. After a short twiddle, her robes are stripped from any signs of the long vapor treatment suffered in class. The blots on her jumper are gone in another flick, and a small charred spot is repaired just as fast.

Next, you pace ahead and take her hands, searching for any cuts and burns, so common to a Potions class. All is well, except for the faint green of her fingers that is beyond magic. The difficult part is done. Now you can both have fun together.

With a smile and a thrill of happiness, you look up, at her face.

And stop dead at the sight of her features.

That beautiful, charming face.

Your heartbeat starts to trip over itself as every little detail, right _there_, in front of you, arrests your attention.

Those twinkling brown eyes, dark as rich chocolate, staring back at you. And then her tiny nose, so close. And the scattered light freckles on her cheeks, very cute.

And the eyes, deep and so sharp now. And that soft mouth, enhanced in glossy pink, where the faint reflection of the candles shimmers playfully.

And the brown eyes again, gentle, welcoming, still staring at you, holding you in place.

Your cheeks feel feverish, your lips are slightly apart, and there's a swarm of weightless bubbles doing weird things to your stomach.

And you can't stop staring.

Hermione looks perfect.

Simply perfect.

You want to tell her that. You _need_ to tell her that, but you realize you can't find your voice, wherever it's gone.

This is... perplexing. You met her earlier today and it hadn't been like this. You were almost as close to her and it hadn't felt anything like this.

But now?

Now you're trapped in the labyrinth that is her beautiful face, noticing more of her at every turn, unable to find a way out.

Until she chuckles softly, and your mind crash-lands, back in position. Kind of.

You even shake your head quickly, several times, and the brunette chuckles a little more. Almost a giggle. Just not enough to make you blush too terribly.

And then you both nearly jump when the door of the bathroom bursts open. Neither had expected that.

Most certainly, you hadn't expected _Alix_ to pop inside with a casual expression, and then suddenly freeze and become very wide-eyed when she looks at you.

And then at the brunette. And back at you.

You tentatively wave your hand at your friend and she smiles so apprehensively that it looks painful. "Uhm, sorry. I did not...? I mean, look at you. Of course I did." She clears her throat and tries again, "Sorry. So very sorry. I am looking for Yvonne. I was zinking she would be 'ere."

"Yvonne is in one of ze stalls," you try to reply evenly, while Alix looks like she's slapping herself mentally.

"Oh, she forgot something in class. I need to talk to 'er. Can you tell 'er I am in ze corridor?"

Before you have a chance to tell her to stay where she is and wait for the blonde, or even introduce her to the brunette, Alix turns and flees. She seemed to be blushing lightly, but it could be the lighting.

At a loss for words, you look at Hermione and the brunette only shrugs, glancing at the entrance with an expression of bafflement. You would have stayed longer like that, if it weren't for the sudden bit of noise coming from where Yvonne is. And, surely enough, the blonde soon moves towards the sinks.

She nods when she sees you and you deliver the message, "Alix is outside, in ze corridor. She said you forgot something in class and zat she 'as to speak to you."

"Oh, I wonder what it was," Yvonne looks concerned, glancing at the small pile of her things. "I better go see."

The blonde barely had the time to wash her hands, but she is quickly on her way. Hermione and you stay a long time looking at the door before you remember about each other.

"Zat was strange," you mumble.

"Which one was the oddest?" Hermione asks in a whisper.

"Zat would be a long debate," you chuckle, nodding. "So... where were we?"

She smiles and you turn to her again, but don't linger on her face out of fear of being captured again. It's weird enough that it happened once. It would be embarrassing if it happened twice.

And so your gaze navigates around that tempting area, and comes to rest safely on her hair, instead.

Her... _hair_.

Your eyes widen at once as your eyebrows reach new heights. How had you missed all this before?

Oh, good heavens, the hair.

Unlike the robes before, her hair isn't a story about dedicated brewing in a Potions class. No, it's leaning more towards the complete _anthology_. The fumes and vapours set off her chestnut locks into a full-blast rebellion.

You step closer for a better look, and Hermione must have noticed what it is that drew your attention. She isn't smiling anymore. The girl shrinks away at first, but then she reconsiders and shyly stands still for you. Her insecurity is plain, and all you want to do is erase it from her mind.

Magic might not be the most effective way to help her, you reason. It certainly isn't the most personal, as she deserves, or the most enjoyable, as you'd like it to be. Plus, her morale could use a little boost.

That settles it.

The wand is tucked away, in favor of your hands. Carefully, you begin to weave her errant strands into submission. Practiced hands comb them gently down her shoulders, and also brush a few behind each ear.

The brunette bites her lips, looking uncertainly at you. Her brow twitches too often as you work, and you see her blinking repeatedly. That's as far as she'll admit her self-conscious discomfort at your actions.

You frown briefly at seeing her in this state, although it is a bit amusing in itself to realize you're both having a bad hair day.

The girl stays attentive to your progress, watching your expression as she lets you unravel the disorder. Her distress doesn't influence your purpose, or your calm.

On the contrary. With a lazy smile, you keep on sifting through the locks, gradually gaining ground. It's a slow process. Very rewarding, but slow. And you insist patiently forward, over and again, dismantling the extra frizz along with her anxiety, little by little.

The strain around her eyes unwinds very, very slowly, but it does. And it only gets better, until she's more assured. And finally smiles back.

After that bridge is crossed, it doesn't take long for her to think it's a good idea to fasten a stable hold around your waist, since you've moved so much closer now.

You chuckle at that eagerness, and bend forward to reward her with a brush of lips on the shell of her ear.

The realization of missing something makes you notice you were searching, in the first place. And it isn't there, that distinctive hallmark that you no longer dissociate from the brunette. The fumes are to blame for that, too, robbing her of any smatterings of the sharp fragrance that has come to be so stimulating to you.

That's a shame.

"I really like to do zis," you confide with a raspy whisper, as your fingers inch still through the strands.

"Tame my hair?" she asks weakly, in a crushed tone.

"Non, keep you close and take care of you. Like I said already, in all ze ways zat I can," you breathe on the warm skin of her neck, nipping it softly.

"Fleur," she mumbles with a bit of effort.

Not quite satisfied, you grasp her earlobe between your lips, trace it slowly with the tip of your tongue, and then pull away, slowly letting it go. That should take her mind far away from wild tresses.

"They might hear us. Or walk right in," the brunette argues in a strangled voice. "So... not... fair."

When you lose contact with the sensitive spot, a bit of pride gleams in your short whisper, "Zat was ze goal."

Hermione shakes her head in objection, but it isn't very convincing when you can also hear the chime of her quiet laugh. It's an all-time favorite sound that you'd want to hear every day. Something to never forget.

"Come back here." Her tone is light, her words falling somewhere between a plea and a protest. "Let me see you."

The brunette trails a shallow scrape of nails up and down your back, probably to get your attention. And you have to confess it's a great way for her to do that.

You take a deep breath, and try to prepare yourself. Time to find out if your previous incident had been just a fluke. Or not.

Oh, well. Confidence might not be your strongest suit now, but you can't deny her this.

You glide back to face her, looking down, at her lips.

She's so at ease, and there's such a lovely smile playing there, that your heartbeat simply _flutters_. You suspect it's testing out new rhythms. The beat of a fresh tune. Just for her.

Your stare slowly climbs, and meanders. Up, up, left, center, and then a pause. And down. A stop for breath. A shiver runs down your back and she smiles more. Up again. Up. A little further... There.

There they are. You look at them steadily.

Beautiful, brown eyes. Staring right back. Your hands drop at your sides. That's where it starts.

Your mouth goes dry as you admire them. So pretty.

Yes, it's the eyes. You feel the pull. You can't stop looking.

Windows to a soul you yearn to know.

You should do something. Or say something. _Anything_.

But actions fail you. Words fail you, too.

And so you stare, only stare, in speechless surrender.

Definitely, the eyes.

Brown. Russet brown. Chocolate brown. Pools of molten chocolate.

It's a wonder that you still stand as _one_, under that gaze. That you even fit inside your skin.

Pretty. Endless. Entrapping.

You hold your breath, feeling a growing anticipation.

Paralyzing. Fascinating. So alive.

Something is going to happen. You just _know_.

You wait.

It's in the way your heart pumps furiously, thrusting liquid flames through your veins.

You can feel it.

In the way a whirlwind of emotions is tearing you into a million pieces.

Building up.

In the way your magic tickles a path to your hands, inviting you to touch her.

Almost there.

A great revelation is about to be spelled out to you.

You can almost see it, grasp it, taste it. Almost _hear_ it.

Just ther-

Steadfast fingers snap you from the trance, holding your chin. Apparently, you spent too long on your standstill, and Hermione decided to take matters into her own hands. Literally.

The brunette blinks a few times, and you notice the renewed sheen that sparkles over those warm browns. Her eyes seek you, looking into your gaze, deep into you, searching for something, and you can only hope that she finds it there.

She pulls you near and you feel lost already, trailing up-close the curlicued design of each of her irises. Just as before, you are caught again in the range of those beacons, calling out to you. Reeling you into the haze.

They remain set on your eyes until you are very close, and then they drift to your lips. She stops and strokes your chin, preparing her next move. You manage a small smile at last. She answers with a brief flash to your eyes again, almost a double take, and her eyelids finally droop, staying sealed the rest of the way.

The moment your lips touch, you're at peace, and an instant calm settles over you.

It's a slow, gentle and sweet kiss. So gentle. The tenderness feels timeless, and also elusive.

But it's only _one_ kiss, and she steps a little back when it ends. You look at her to understand the sudden distance, and an unwavering stare targets you again. You llower your gaze at her lips, all too apprehensive of a third deadlock.

There's no sign of Yvonne, yet, so you ask yourself why it stopped so quickly. Tasting your very tingly lips, you lean ahead to continue, but the brunette delivers a quick peck and doesn't let it escalate. "Your friend will return any time now. We can carry on later."

Any concern about that couldn't be farther from your mind.

"When?" you probe when your voice decides to cooperate, revealing a degree of insistence you don't care to hide.

"You'll see," Hermione mumbles distractedly.

Sighing at her inexplicable off mood, your hands gradually shrink away from her waist. You can't even recall when it was that you tied them around her. At least you're pleased to see her hair is in a much less woolly state.

"Fleur," she continues in a determined voice now, staring hard at you, "I just realized what's different with your eyes."

"Hmm?"

Hermione usually transitions smoothly from a topic of conversation to the next, but this one is so unrelated to anything that it throws your brain in a twist.

So this must be what hijacked her thoughts.

"When I saw you at lunch, the blue looked, er, lighter... Yes, I _know_," the brunette's inflexion stops you from interrupting, a teasing grin spreading her lips apart. The words you'd been about to speak now lay stuck somewhere between your brain and your tongue. "I thought it was absurd, too... But I'm sure now. It's definitely the color."

You frown as she takes your hand and pulls you with her to the area of the sinks and mirrors. You start to feel a little edgy. Hermione has to have seen _something_ to become this interested.

"Better lighting," she explains. "I have to be able to see."

"Okay, zen," you finally say, trying to keep an upbeat attitude about it, "please tell me what you find."

She nods, moves in as close as she needs, and starts to change the position of your face until the angle favors her examination. At her directions, you keep your eyes wide open, though unfocused enough to miss her dangerously enthralling browns. What is it with those eyes?

Hermione holds her search for a while, scanning each orb in turn. Her expression grows a little more flustered over time, until she lets out a short sigh and seems to give up. Without warning, she quickly hovers forward and steals another kiss. You chuckle despite your anxiety.

"Too tempting is what you are. Just too much to resist," she whispers, smiling. And then she shakes her head and shrugs, "Wouldn't want to, anyway."

"You will not 'ear any complaints from me, 'Ermione," you pipe in, taking advantage of the interval to rub your eyelids a bit and correct the dryness in your eyes. "What did you find out?"

With an apologetic tone, she lights up the tip of her wand and explains, "Nothing. I can see the different color, but the candles aren't enough, Fleur. I'll use extra help."

You nod and look straight into the strong glow. At least you won't have to worry about meeting her eyes now.

Yvonne chooses that moment to cough loudly from the corridor outside, and then make an abundant amount of noises before opening the door in such a slow swing that you ponder if the hinges are defective. She's clearly announcing to the four winds that you should expect her presence anytime now. Even Peeves could learn a thing or two from the blonde's racket.

To your contentment, Hermione doesn't manifest any reaction to the Ravenclaw's impending return. Except by turning around curiously when the sound of the blonde's footsteps comes to a stop inside the bathroom. You follow suit and look up, as well. The size of the blonde's smile as she takes in the sight of the brunette and you together is sufficient to bring one of your eyebrows defiantly up.

Next thing you know, Hermione is facing you again, with the full combination of tight frown, chewed lip and light blush creeping on her cheeks. And she stays firmly like that, apparently looking at the buttons of your blouse.

"Should we do this some other time?" she whispers.

"I zink it is okay in zis case," you reassure her, while glaring a warning at the blonde.

Hermione takes your word for it, slowly nods, and then ignites the tip of her wand squarely by your face. As casually as she can, the brunette cups your cheek and sets your face in position, under the beam of light. You slowly blink a few times, and then peal your eyelids to allow her a good view.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Yvonne slowly walking towards one of the sinks, but trying to find out what the Gryffindor is doing.

You turn your attention to the brunette, too, and the expression on her face is a jostle to your uneasiness. She suddenly seems a lot more concerned about whatever she detected than the blonde's implied conclusions.

"I'm sorry for the strong light. This is a great improvement, Fleur," she says in a calming tone, carefully tilting her head left and right. "Your eyes are basically the same deep blue, except now I see silver spots all over. That's why the color struck me as lighter."

"Silver?" you ask, and the girl raises her eyebrows, nodding in confirmation.

This isn't a coincidence, and you can almost hear the cogs grinding in Hermione's mind. She's thinking the same.

"Can I have a look?" Yvonne inquires while drying her hands, wearing a dubiously innocent expression.

Hermione reluctantly takes a step away to allow the blonde full access.

"I hadn't noticed this before." The blonde forgets her smile and her interest is magnified when she sways closer for her own scan.

And closer. And even more closer. It makes you instantly stiff and uncomfortable, suddenly too aware of the intrusion into your personal space. Very few have permission for that, and Yvonne's name is not on that short list.

Without notifying the blonde, you push the wand tip away and blink repeatedly, trying to straighten your back to add some subtle distance from the girl. At the end of the break, you look at Yvonne and her closeness gives you an idea. This might be a chance to test your supersensitivity to stares. Or, at least, to see if it happens with anyone else.

You narrow your eyes and lean _towards_ the blonde. Her natural response is to retract, and you follow forward, keeping the size of the gap between you, paying attention to her irises as you had done to the brunette before.

It doesn't last for long. You both stop moving, noses inches apart, when you finally notice Yvonne has the weirdest look on her face, as if your forehead had just grown a horn and you were attempting to skewer her, right between the eyes. You sigh and draw back. No incidents this time. That answers your question.

Okay, so you just made a complete fool of yourself.

In a resigned tone, you come up with an excuse that might sound acceptable, "I zought I saw something as well."

The blonde slowly nods, though her expression is still unusual, and Hermione finds an opening to redirect the conversation.

"There's more, Yvonne. Check the pattern," the brunette says, holding onto your shoulder for support as she leans beside the blonde to show her findings.

"You're right," Yvonne replies in an amused tone. "The silver spots are moving, throughout the blue."

"_These_ small specks are blending together, and the larger areas _here_, and _here_ are breaking apart," the Gryffindor describes.

Yvonne abandons her position to pace slowly by herself, shaking her head from time to time as if rejecting a particular line of thought. She's taking this quite seriously.

By now, you are all but a test subject caught in a lab experiment. Every new development is a sharp blow to your confidence, and you realize you've fallen into a vicious cycle, where anxiety and fear reinforce each other, clawing your calm to shreds. And although your mother still hasn't offered advice, the Veela in the woods did warn you. This isn't the best moment to allow your emotions too much leeway.

The problem is that you just can't be at ease when _you_ are the source of your own insecurities. That only makes your stress levels peak. To your chagrin, right now they come hand in hand with another leak of magic, this time flooding your figure with unmistakable pain.

A burning pain, that spreads high and low, thoroughly, meticulously, distorting all your senses at once. It only becomes worse, until your skin is humming in protest, an acrid taste fills your mouth, your eyesight is clouded, an offensive smell makes your stomach coil in disgust, and there's loud ringing in your ears.

You're a mess. You need this to stop _now_, before you pass out from agony and extreme disorientation. Closing your eyes, you stay very still, avoiding even to breathe, silently wishing it goes away. Or you go numb from overexposure. And that either option happens as fast as possible.

Many heartbeats later, the powerful ache simmers down into a tolerable discomfort. Your lungs gulp air like there isn't enough in the room, and the sensations throughout your body are restored to a more normal degree.

Things have been quite odd lately, but today is out to take the prize.

The hand on your shoulder clenches slightly and you look at the brunette still holding on to you. She gives you a reassuring smile that helps you to calm down faster. And when you are finally relaxed, it's in wonderment that you realize the effects of that unusual rush. Whatever it was, it just fine-tuned your charms to a degree beyond anything you'd ever achieved.

Even Yvonne's emotions are easier for you to read now than what you could feel at a very close range before, and she's roaming rather far away from you. The blonde is probably in the middle of some logical reasoning, which would explain why her feelings are so contained and mild. Too mild, actually. She's curious, interested and slightly concerned. Sincerely concerned. You can't help smiling a little at that. It's sweet of her to worry about you, someone she doesn't know very well.

Your attention swiftly turns to Hermione, a more interesting option, and the brunette is a shocking contrast to the blonde. Underneath her collected exterior there are _layers_ of charged feelings, volatile and in motion, as she watches Yvonne suspiciously. The Gryffindor is quite hard to decipher, but in her case it's because the quick changes make it almost impossible to keep up with all the bursts of apprehension, caution, confusion, and so much, that you could keep on going for a while. All in all, she's so clearly discomposed that it highlights her efficient ability to lock emotions away from her expression.

You reach the back of the hand at your shoulder and tease it with the tip of a couple of fingers, gliding over her skin in circles. With plenty of effort, you take active control of the charms, and gently try to stabilize the brunette's many shifts. It seems to work, though not entirely, and then you focus on soothing feelings, aiming to calm yourself and also ease her into a lighter state. As soon as you start, she takes a curious look your way, raising an eyebrow when she meets your silver stare. You nod, silently answering her question, and she smiles, holding your gaze. Every one of those negative feelings is canceled, and her inner turmoil gives room to warm affection.

Yvonne's footsteps are approaching again, and Hermione starts to pull her hand from you. All you can do is watch as it slides down the fabric of your sleeve for a while, and finally breaks loose to float away. Almost at the same time, the charms fold back into their regular state, quickly as they had sprung to life.

And it's a disappointment to feel both connections split.

Your stare clings to her face, now searching the brunette's features for any indications of her wandering mind, when Yvonne speaks again.

"You don't know what it is, do you?"

Sighing, you glance at Yvonne and shake your head with conviction. "Non, but you looked like you were making some serious considerations. Would you like to share your zoughts? Perhaps you found a good explanation."

"I'm shooting in the dark, Fleur. I can only take a guess. Even more than one, if you want to go through with this," the Ravenclaw states, twiddling her wand.

"It shouldn't have to do with anything we practiced in class today. Conjuration and Transformation spells can't do _that_," the blonde explains, looking at your eyes, "even if anyone made a huge mistake. They're a world apart from Human Transfiguration spells."

"Yvonne, Fleur was like this at lunch." Hermione's statement confirms Yvonne is on the right track.

"Right, so this _is_ something else," the blonde says thoughtfully. "Were you hit with a stray spell?"

"Not zat I am aware," you reply.

Hermione keeps quiet, biting her lower lip and letting the Ravenclaw follow through with her investigative streak, though she doesn't leave your side.

"Maybe it was a prank. Someone could've spiked a goblet of juice or offered you something _special_ to eat," Yvonne adds, and you start to shake your head.

"Did you receive any anonymous gifts? Are you feeling strange?"

"I cannot remember anything like zat. I feel fine. And who would do such a zing?" you protest. That would be outrageous.

The blonde shrugs and continues, playing with her wand as she bounces around a series of possibilities. One more farfetched than the next.

"Were you ill lately? What about allergies? Did you take any healing potions?"

"Is your wand out of order?" You give her a look and she takes it back herself. "No, that can't be. It worked just fine, half an hour ago."

"Have you had an accident in one of the greenhouses?"

"Did you wander into the Forbidden Forest?" This one deserves a little more thought than the others, but you were there briefly and it was days ago. Any strange manifestations would have made themselves known earlier in the week.

"Moody had us do that essay on poisons over the holidays. I don't recall any with that effect, do you?"

"Are you carrying any amulets? Or any other magical instruments?"

"What about an altercation with Peeves?"

"Any skin-piercing wounds recently? Hagrid has those Blast-Ended Screwts and we can't be too sure."

At this point, your head is in a constant shake, not even waiting the next suggestion before denying it. Hermione has crossed her arms and her expression is one of absolute skepticism, analyzing the Ravenclaw with what little is left of her waning patience. No surprises there. Yvonne is performing an extensive interrogation, and it couldn't be too different if conducted by an Auror from the Ministry.

You can bet your own expression must be beyond the traditional description of a frown. With the tension in your muscles, _this_ should deserve a new definition altogether.

"Okay, that was the bad part. We ruled out the basics," the blonde says in a high-spirited tone and a loud sigh pours from her lips.

"Oui, I believe so, now zat you finished your questions and ze complete scan on my clothing and myself. Oh, and let us not forget ze many counter-spells you just performed wizout result," you add, tilting your head and narrowing your eyes, "and clearly, wizout asking for permission first."

"I was wondering what all that was about," Hermione adds, trying to sound more neutral than bothered. And failing.

"I'm sorry, Fleur. The spells are harmless," she argues, and her calm doesn't falter when she nods at Hermione. The brunette still has her arms crossed. "I needed to be sure that you were not under any type of magical influence. One should never jump to conclusions."

"I was not aware zat you were so full of precautions, Yvonne, or zat you followed ze suggestions from Professor Moody to ze letter... You are lucky zat I feel I can trust you, even wizout any reasonable explanation," you reply with a half-smile.

"Yeah," the blonde chuckles and her relief shows, "it was a risky move. I couldn't tell you what I planned to do, but I'm glad that you didn't reach for your wand."

"I recognized ze spells, so..." you trail off.

"I didn't," Hermione mumbles moodily, probably not used to being in the dark. The brunette watches your hesitating smiles with a slow shake of her head and an expression of reproval, as if you'd both gone mad together, right in front of her.

Concealed from Yvonne's line of sight, you place your left hand on the brunette's stiff lower back and give her a light scratch over her thick clothes, repeatedly, back and forth, keeping it at the same place. It's meant to be comforting and reassuring.

The Gryffindor looks at you and receives a full, winsome smile. "I understand what Yvonne was doing, 'Ermione. If it 'ad been ze uzzer way around, I probably would 'ave tried something close to zat, until I was sure zere was nothing dangerous 'appening."

Her frown remains intact, but something must have made it through to her, and that rigid posture starts to look less strained.

"Now we can tackle this the other way, yes?" Yvonne volunteers once the Gryffindor calms down. "The most likely answer should be the natural option."

You raise an eyebrow, curious to learn her reasoning, "And, in your opinion, zat would be...?"

The blonde's eyes flickers to Hermione before drilling you with an inquiring stare. You relax your face and wait, showing her a lack of concern that the brunette participates in this.

"That it wasn't anything done _to_ you. This _is_ you, Fleur. Not the human part, clearly. Humans can't do that. But something that relates to your Veela aspect, I think. My grandfather knew a female Veela when he was a young boy, in school. He told me her eyes could shift from dark brown to yellow." She pauses, looks at Hermione again, and then asks seriously, "I don't mean to pry or anything. I'm guessing your _other_ color is silver?"

Slowly, very slowly, you nod. "Oui, it is."

"Then the silver is bleeding through the blue. It has to be the best explanation," Yvonne speaks in a firmer, rather conclusive manner.

You only nod again, this time mutely.

"And I see this isn't news to either of you." The Ravenclaw crosses her arms, watching you with a bit of disappointment. "How awkward for me. Why didn't you tell me up front?"

"Zis is... personal. Knowledge on Veela is vague, at best. I did not expect you to guess anything close to zat, but I wanted to 'ear your zoughts, Yvonne. Perhaps you 'ad anuzzer idea," you reply. "I 'oped zere was, actually. It would make zings simpler if a spell or a potion could set me right again."

"You can't assume something is wrong, Fleur," the brunette points out. "For all we know, this is normal for you."

Yvonne shares her own impressions and protests. "You could've been fair and square with me. Really, Fleur, you should have. I understand your reservations, but I wouldn't try to put you down for being different."

You frown, slowly nod to them both and let your head hang down, in silence. It isn't an easy conversation for you.

Hermione is chewing her lip again, looking mostly at you, but she glances around at Yvonne when the blonde sighs and points at your eyes again, "You really don't know what that means?"

More head shaking. "Non."

"You won't find the answers here, I can tell you that. I'm about to graduate, and Veela are a mystery to me," the Ravenclaw says. "To be honest, I wish that weren't the case. It wouldn't hurt to learn from a reliable source."

You smile at the subtle request and file a mental note to remember that later.

The blonde checks the hour, and then looks at you in concern, "We are losing our advantage with Snape. Tell you what, Fleur, I'll go and get started. You take your time, okay?"

"Merci. I will be zere in a minute," you reply.

The Gryffindor nods at Yvonne as she gathers her things and dashes away. You're glad the blonde has a straightforward way to cope with things.

As soon as you're alone, Hermione shakes up your wandering trail of thoughts. "You didn't expect her guess to be so close, did you?"

It isn't a question, but one look and she has her confirmation.

The brunette doesn't stop there. You should've known the silence wouldn't last. "I'd like to know why your eyes are that way now. And why your pheromones-"

"So would I," you mumble weakly, and it's enough to turn her silent.

The list keeps getting longer. You wonder if it's a good idea to bring up the hair, bursts of magic, and the charms issues. Or ask more about that something she'd said of your features, too.

You lift a hand to her cheek and let your thumb tickle her skin lazily for a while.

One of her hands covers your fingers, squeezing them softly. "I'm sorry. It can't be easy for you, and that wasn't very sensitive of me... You asked to see that Veela book again. It's related to this, isn't it?"

You nod, "It is a temporary solution. I sent letters to my family almost a week ago, 'Ermione. Now I am patiently waiting for zeir replies. Zey should not take much longer."

"I think you meant to say _im_patiently," Hermione smiles shyly, probably unsure if it's the best timing to pull off a joke. "That must be a long letter they have to write. But if anything was really urgent, you probably would've heard from them already, right?"

That makes sense. "Perhaps."

"Fleur, you look so lost," she says sadly, before hurling forward to wrap you in a tight hug that feels as supportive as you need. "Don't be. I'm sure there has to be an explanation for everything. And it can't deserve all those wrinkles. Seriously."

"Merci, 'Ermione," you reply tenderly, separating yourself just enough to look at her and lay a quick peck on the tip of her nose.

"You calmed me before, when I was too anxious. What can I do to make you feel better?" she asks as her mouth bows into a pretty smile, more confident now.

That was a sure-fire way to lift your spirits. You chuckle. "You just did, ma belle. Zat tiny smile was all zat I needed. You must 'ave read my mind."

It widens into a grin and you leave her side to retrieve your bag. With a glance at the girl, you wave at the door, "Shall we?"

"Okay. Harry and Ron should be pulling out whole chunks of hair by now," Hermione shakes her head, smiling.

"What about your potion? No worries zere?" You realize that the brunette didn't seem to mind until now.

"It's at the last stew. Mmm... twenty more minutes to go and that's it," she replies smartly, hurrying to the exit.

"So zat is why you 'ad no concern of time slipping away," you mumble to yourself, suddenly alone.

And all there's left to do is follow her example.

It's a short walk to the classroom, and you watch as Hermione creeps through the door, and then zooms to her table. You stay at the frame, staring around to find the professor, but he is busy dictating corrections or criticism to a trembling Gryffindor boy. The way he scribbles angrily onto his notes suggests a very low mark was the result.

Frowning, you search for your blonde partner instead. Yvonne lifts the lit tip of her wand to get your attention, and you notice she's at the back of the classroom, where you sat yesterday.

Many of the students straighten up in their stools when they see you enter. Some even try to hastily improve their appearance, scampering fingers through their tussled hair, or to tidy their tables.

To your pleasant surprise, Harry, Ronald and Hermione are sitting at the table to the left where Yvonne is, and you greet them with a nod and a brief smile.

The brunette winks at you, Harry nods, and Ronald grimaces. The redhead ducks away, turning to look at the depths of his cauldron so intently that you start to wonder if he's considering diving to hide inside. Hermione shakes his arm with a scowl ready and you don't wait to see how that turns out, walking ahead to your table.

For once, you'll be sharing a few moments in the same classroom with the brunette. Nothing should be allowed to ruin the moment. The odds of it ever happening again are probably too slim to waste time on hopeful thinking.

The down side is that it had to be Potions, of all possibilities, and when you settle down and glance around again, the girl is already distracted, whispering instructions to her friends. The fact that each of their cauldrons is spewing fumes of a different color can't possibly be a good omen.

"Thought you'd take longer," the blonde says lightly.

"Non, zere was no need. We are 'ere for a purpose, non?" you counter, looking at the table, the cauldron in position and the floor underneath. "Zey fixed everything so well, it looks like nothing 'appened yesterday. And zis must be your cauldron, I presume."

"Yeah, it is. You can get another one in Hogsmeade, Fleur. There's a nice shop that sells them. I'm sure the owner will be amused to hear the story of our last class," she smiles in jest.

You chuckle, "'E will zink I am a menace to 'is cauldrons."

"That, too," the blonde agrees, tracing a fingertip down the list of ingredients she's reading. "So... Are you good to go?"

"Sure am," you reply, inspecting what she's doing. And then you smirk, "I could not let you receive all ze compliments by yourself, could I?"

Her head snaps up and she looks pleased at once, "Now, that's a bright mood."

"Oui. I just spent some time wiz two amazing girls. You could say it 'ad a good effect on me," you state sincerely, arranging your bag under the table. "Zank you for zat."

"Not at all," Yvonne remarks, patting the stool at her side. "Come on, partner. Sit down, and get comfortable. I was about to recount the first batch of components."

"I can 'elp wiz zat. Can you explain your plan?" you ask, already getting involved.

"What you see here are the ingredients that don't have to be weighed. Next, we get to fetch everything else," Yvonne points those out in the book.

Your stare unconsciously moves to the cupboard with all the ingredients, but it finds Professor Snape instead, with an unreadable expression, standing at the center of the room, and watching you and Yvonne talk. Somehow, you manage to keep your cool as you nod slowly at him.

"The weighing part will take us a while. Do you think we should start processing the ingredients, too?" the blonde continues and you almost miss the words.

You shake your head slowly, returning your gaze to the table, "Zey will be of better quality if we keep zem fresh until ze last possible moment. Zis time we need to do ze most effective potion we can."

She agrees and you crosscheck the components on the table against the amounts specified on the instructions. Everything is correct. You organize them in order while the blonde gets the brass scale ready.

At her suggestion, you go together to the cupboard at the front of the classroom and collect the rest of the ingredients. It's quite a large bunch, so some end up being carried and others are hovered along.

On your way back, the room becomes suddenly much darker, and you notice the professor striding angrily in-between the tables, heading towards a melting cauldron right at the front of the classroom. Before you can even sense the revolting reek, he's already vanished the mess and is reprimanding the cowering boy next to it. Another Gryffindor.

It isn't much of a surprise to hear sniggering close by and realize Mr. Malfoy and his buddies are the source. They're sitting at the table in front of Hermione's, apparently having the time of their lives as they watch the professor spill his venom over the error. Perhaps they held a particular grudge against that student.

Harry and Ronald's expressions, on the other hand, are mutinous, and the brunette with them is whispering heatedly, trying to quench the flammable atmosphere.

"Sort of déjà vu, isn't it?" Yvonne asks when you are sitting again, subtly pointing at the unfortunate scene in plain sight. The dark fumes are still visible, as is the distorted cauldron and the glaring professor.

"Of course. Makes me wonder why Professor Snape chose to go so easy on us. Ze way 'e is treating zat student is more like what I expected yesterday," you confirm.

"We were original," she says, shrugging, and it earns her a quizzical expression from you. "Snape's experienced, the Potions master of Hogwarts. He must deal with regular mistakes, like _that_ one, in every class. Ours was something else, special. Didn't you see his face when he tried to vanish the potion and it wouldn't work? He couldn't believe his eyes."

"So you are saying zat our accident turned ze potion so uniquely _bad_... zat 'e took an interest in it?" you retort.

"That's what I think, yes. He never gives anyone a second chance to brew a potion." And then she adds with a suggestive smile, "It's either that or he's very fond of us."

"As if zat was possible."

You exchange a glance and shake your heads, smiling.

Yvonne pulls the scale closer and you pass her each ingredient in time, double-checking her measurements. It's a tedious activity, but also one that requires perfect attention to avoid problems later.

"... elephant man."

Somehow, that dirty tidbit just slipped past your concentration, Yvonne's words, _and_ the book of potions, slinking a way through to your brain.

Your eyes search and soon find the blonde boy sneering at Harry in a careless way. A scowl couldn't have taken shape any faster on your face. Yvonne stirs by your side, but you hand her the next sample and she continues without any remarks.

"Missing the giant oaf, Potter?"

Now you're listening in and don't miss a word, though your stare is on the lookout for the professor.

"Bet your pal's sacked any day now. Weasley could hide the savage at that place he calls a house, but I think he just wouldn't fit, would he?"

Ronald bolts from his stool and Harry struggles to keep him seated. Hermione looks torn between calming her friends and hexing the obnoxious blonde's smirk to the other side of his head.

The professor is three rows down, and he seems to have realized there is a disturbance going on. The man shoots a glacial glare at Harry and reroutes towards him. Neither of the students close by has noticed that move.

"'Ermione," you call out softly, more than once, but the combined noise of the Slytherin trio's laughter and Ronald's growls overshadows all your attempts.

As you say her name louder and are about to poke her arm, Professor Snape's dark eyes narrow on your tentative gesture. The raised limb is swiftly withdrawn back to your lap. It will be terrible to put her in more trouble, but you have to do _something_.

Throwing caution to the wind, you lean to her side on the pretense of verifying the underside of the cauldron. You stretch out the hand that's concealed under the table and clamp it firmly on her right knee, whispering harshly, "'Ermione!"

The girl quakes in her seat as you sit up. When she parts her lips to start asking questions, you cut her short with a last squeeze and pull away, stabbing a hard glance on the wizard about to pass the Slytherins' table. Hoping she gets the hint, you finally whirl to tend to your obligations with Yvonne.

It must have worked and the brunette warned her friends in time, too, for they are soon silent, well seated and acting absorbed with their potions. The professor walks by at a snail's pace, hovering over the cauldrons of the Gryffindors like a hawk hunting prey. The dark glint in his eyes holds all the promise of devastating catastrophe on the brink of release.

And all he needs is an excuse.

You gaze neutrally at the hard-working trio at your side, which is clearly dead set on denying him the pleasure. Moving your stare around the professor to avoid meeting his eyes, at last you check the Slytherin boys, noticing with surprise that only Mr. Malfoy doesn't have his back turned.

No. Instead, he is exhibiting a vicious expression, and looking at you. He must have deduced what you did. Your eyes narrow slightly, and now you have to concentrate hard to keep that soft pressure in your irises at bay. The pale boy eventually becomes bored and turns away, adding some chopped seeds to the contents of his cauldron.

The biased professor finds nothing to complain among the younger students, so he takes some extra time to analyze your table next. Just like the innocent Ravenclaw blonde at your other side, you hold his gaze evenly, trying to mirror the same perfectly blank expression that she has on.

Apparently it works and he remains silent, but you have the impression he blames _you_ for depriving him of a successful pursuit. After another long stretch of minutes, the man finally roves away to tend to a mini-explosion at the front of the classroom.

"That was too close, Fleur," Hermione murmurs when she can take a short break from helping Harry and, particularly, Ronald. "If you hadn't seen him... Well, it wouldn't have been pretty."

"You were distracted. Rightfully distracted," you reply, setting your stare clearly on Mr. Malfoy's back. "Ze zings 'e said were vile."

"They're really terrible to Hagrid. It's unbelievable how unfair this is," the brunette remarks.

Yvonne doesn't abandon her progress with the scale, but mumbles something akin to 'Immature rubbish'. It's a clear sign that, despite everything, the blonde was aware of the occurrences beyond the limits of your table.

Hermione nods at the Ravenclaw's comment and gets something out of her rucksack, checking around before handing it to you, "I made it to my room before class. Maybe you want to see it now?"

With a startling surprise, you recognize the book you'd asked her at lunch. Since the ingredients left for Yvonne to prepare are ready and in order, according to the instructions, you open the large book on your lap and start to search for what you need.

From memory, you prepare a list of the many chapters with small dedicated parts that could be helpful. You skim through the pages carefully, rereading bits of the material in case you overlooked something.

Unfortunately, it's proving to be a fruitless effort. The text gives priority to the main markers of a Veela in phasing - the evolution of the charms, the novelty of pheromones and the onset of magic. If you're honest with yourself, those were your main concerns at first, so the book seemed very adequate during the weekend.

But now you want more.

Yvonne slides her elbows on the table, peering at the old volume, "You're too quiet. Anything good?"

You close the book briefly to show her the cover. While the blonde reads the details, you take a look at Hermione, who is now ladling up some of Harry's potion and making a disgusted face. You sniff curiously, recognizing the brew by the stench. It's smelling just right. No wonder her hair had lost all traces of a nice scent. No fragrance could fight its way through that.

The Ravenclaw glides closer, more interested now, "Did you find it at the library?"

"Non," you reply, going back to the table of contents, "I brought it wiz me, from 'ome. Ze author is a well-known Veela."

"Oh, I see. Hermione borrowed it," the blonde concludes. She's really keeping track of what is going on, by the look of things. "I've never read a book on Veela written by a Veela. Do you recommend that one?"

"It was useful for me, a good start," you confirm.

"Can I, maybe, have a look after she's finished?" she asks uncertainly. And then she backtracks, "If it's alright with you."

Considering the shortcomings of the tome, with the superficial approach to more critical details of your current situation, you see no reasons to deny her that. After all, a book such as this is much more than most wizards ever learn about Veela. And the blonde seems genuinely curious.

"Of course. I will tell you when she is over wiz it," you offer.

"Thanks," she says in surprise, clearly not expecting that.

You nod, but now barely listen to her, as your eyes fall on a very short entry at the end of a chapter.

"Fleur, we're short on murtlap tentacles," the blonde continues, and with a glance you catch her rolling her eyes, probably because the same thing happened yesterday.

But it's all tuning down to background noise as your eyes run from word to word. Yvonne nudges you softly on the elbow. If it wasn't for that, you'd have missed her lift off altogether.

"Be right back."

You don't even acknowledge it with a nod.

Disappointingly, what you found was a single paragraph, and it mentions in scarce words that a few modifications are expected in external appearance through your transition (although it fails to cite which ones, to which extent, or for how long), but that the most significant development is noticed in inner systemic functions. Again, without any details or examples to clarify.

Isn't it just jolly to expect straight answers and read something so indefinite? You go for the handful of lines again, already thinking it's a bad investment in time. This can't replace your mother.

"What is this, Miss Delacour?"

You almost have a syncope when you hear that peculiarly low, cool, calculated hiss.

As you turn around, your stare catches a glimpse of a shocked and mortified Hermione, before slowly floating upwards.

What a nightmare.

You swallow hard, trying to dislodge the clump that is obstructing your throat. Without success. But when Professor Snape glances at Hermione, you suddenly find your voice and try to quickly get his attention back on you, "I-I am reading a book, professor."

In his best inscrutable and cold stare, he stretches his long fingers at you. Glancing in doubt from the open hand to his dark eyes a few times, a large weight settles on your stomach once you realize he _is_ dead serious. You finally close the book and hand it over.

He takes a long look at the cover, and then pulls out his wand. One tap later, it's gone from sight.

That makes your uneasiness multiply. "Sir, zat was a rare tome, and it belongs to my family. I cannot lose zat book."

"That, Miss Delacour, should have been your concern before distracting your mind at my class," he counters silkily. "Must I remind you the reason Miss Bampton and you are here today?"

"Non, sir," you reply, recognizing defeat, although there's a quiet plea in your voice.

"You may have it back after you complete your potion, Miss Delacour," he says curtly, and then the soft swish of his robes is all that's left of the man.

You tangle your fingers through your ponytail, about to ruffle it nervously, but think better when you remember there's a sound argument to abstain from that today. It takes all the fight you have left not to give in to the urge of doing something truly regrettable. "My muzzer is going to kill me."

"He came out of nowhere, Fleur. I didn't see him until he was all over you," Hermione begins in an apologetical tone.

"Neither did I," you reply flatly.

Yvonne returns with a small bowl full of oozy tentacles, and she looks very flustered, "What did he say, Fleur? Was there something wrong with the ingredients?"

"Non, Yvonne. Ze professor was more interested in my book. 'E took it," you explain, waving your hand in his general direction.

"Snape won't do anything to it, Fleur," Hermione blurts, watching the professor with a cross expression.

"The book on Veela?" That was something the blonde doesn't believe at first, running her stare over the table to confirm everything is as it was supposed to be. Once she's convinced, she grouses on, "But he can't do that. The book is yours."

You nod, "'E will let me 'ave it when we are done."

"All the more reason to brew this to perfection, then," the blonde says in a severe tone. "We'll show him, and you'll get your book back."

"Ron!" Hermione whispers harshly. "You weren't listening to me, were you? Horns first, _then_ scales."

You look at what the brunette is trying to correct, but remember Yvonne is talking to you. After a long sigh, you reluctantly nod at the blonde.

"Look what I found," she offers cheerfully, releasing the contents of her hand close to you, on the table.

Several oddly-shaped bezoars tumble about until they come to a complete stop. "I 'ad never seen any like zese. So large."

"Aren't they?" The amusement in her voice is infectious, and when you realize Hermione is chancing a curious glance over your shoulder, you offer the brunette the weirdest of them all to check by herself. And she accepts it with a cute smile, before extending her wand to correct the flames under Ron's cauldron.

"It's a class on antidotes," Yvonne continues, "so Snape has a large batch in the cupboard. I thought you'd like to check them, too."

"Merci," you reply, though the odd stones have a thin grasp on your interest.

You keep on glancing at the brunette as she releases the bezoar on the table to be fully devoted to her friends. They both seem to require her assistance at the same time, and their potions should be looking a lot better by now.

It's upsetting to see her so worried and disgruntled, and your shoulders hang down at the sight of her hair defying gravity again. Even more than before, when you met her at the bathroom.

That thought transports you back to the earlier affairs with the brunette. You remember brown eyes that held you spellbound, like all else had ceased in your mind. Even as you search her lean figure at will, there isn't anything unusual about her that you can notice. There's that same manner of speaking, the same gestures, the usual expressions. Nothing that betrays the reason for the unique effect she had over you.

You sigh and close your eyes. This is leading you nowhere. Feeling useless, you turn to Yvonne and finally ask your partner, "Can I 'elp you wiz ze weighing?

I 'ave nothing more to do."

"I'm almost finished. Only these tentacles left and we are free for dinner," Yvonne remarks, arranging the counterweights on the scale.

You grab a small bezoar with a very smooth surface, and rub it in your hand, looking around in boredom. The cauldrons are bubbling, vapours of an almost uniform color rise to form that familiar foggy mist, and the professor is stalking to see to another problematic potion. It could be from the same boy who had a mishap earlier, though you can't really tell.

One of the Slytherins nearby starts snickering again and you glance at the large boy. Mr. Malfoy is wearing a malicious smirk at his side. Your distraction made you miss the exchange, but Ronald's ears turned a deep red, so it mustn't have been anything good. And 'polite' is probably out of the question as well.

The brunette jolts from her seat. "Ron, the mistletoe berries go _after_ the unicorn horns."

The ginger stops himself at the last possible moment, avoiding an unwanted incident that would only fuel the Slytherins' glee. Hermione scowls until her friend is back on track, following the instructions correctly.

"Harry, I'll get more berries for you. Keep stirring like that. Ron, that's the last ingredient. You're really doing _great_. Don't mind them," Hermione states as she stands from her stool and rushes to the cupboard.

Your stare stays fixed on her figure until the girl is concealed by some thicker fumes coming from the potions at the front of the class. You sigh. A quick glance at Yvonne proves she's still handling tentacles. You turn the other way, then, and look at Hermione's friends, working side by side against time. And now that you're paying close attention, it's easy to catch that irritating voice.

"Goody saint Potter, I warned you from the day we met – be careful to choose your company. Just won't listen, will you?"

Your brow crinkles tightly as you turn to watch the snobbish boy. Professor Snape is lurking close by. Harry wisely pretends to be deaf, and grinds his bezoar into what you can bet is the finest humanly-possible powder.

That doesn't stop the Slytherin bully from taking the silence as an invitation to go on. "Always hanging around with all sorts of riff-raff, Potter - those weasel blood traitors," Mr. Malfoy drawls each foul word with deliberate loathing, smirking again when Harry hauls Ron by the hood of his cloak to hold the redhead down, and he gathers himself arrogantly to enunciate in an even lower speed, now glancing straight at you, "the nasty half-breeds..."

You don't blink as your eyes narrow dangerously, staring at the display of gratuitous idiocy and malevolent intolerance.

Huh. Nice wording, there. Trust your brain to keep a minimum level of intelligence at an irritable moment.

"... and that filthy _Mudblood_," he ends at last, and the way he almost spat that last word triples its offensive meaning.

The boy smiles as if he took great pleasure in saying that, and even more in throwing it at your face. He's goading you to react.

A small part of your brain comprehends his intent, but it's a very small part.

And it's getting smaller.

That smirk.

Smaller. Fading.

Nil.

A rage as you've never felt before erases all traces of reason from your being. You're far beyond the point of seeing red, and magic is ready at your fingertips faster than a thought. There's a tight crushing sensation in your head and, from then on, it isn't _you_ wearing your body anymore. Through the thick fog clouding your mind, you're squeezing your right hand and raising it, getting ready to do something about that boisterous smirk, so provoking and unfair. So out of place.

Until you realize you're not actually moving.

Because you can't.

You're trapped under an insistent sharp tug on your right shoulder and a fierce grip is locking your hand to the table. That alerts you to Yvonne's presence.

It's the second time today someone interferes before you unleash your temper on an irritating boy.

"Not worth it," the Ravenclaw whispers, grinding out the words urgently. "He's a Slytherin. _This_ is Snape's domain. And we're in trouble with him as it is."

Her clutch only becomes stronger, borderline painful.

Anger waters down, slowly seeping away through the increasing cracks in your resolve. When you've accepted the blonde isn't letting go, your efforts to disengage nearly stop, and you turn to the girl in dismay.

Yvonne looks at you and drops heavily on her seat, mumbling in awe, "There's the silver!"

You shut your eyelids and sigh. So much for trusting your brain.

That's when you hear Hermione's voice, behind you. "Yvonne? Fleur, what's going on?"

It's enough to startle you. Yvonne searches your face and slowly lets go, sparing you more time to recover. "Fleur isn't feeling too well, Hermione. It could be the fumes. We should be leaving any time now."

"Hey, you," the brunette whispers at your side. "What's up?"

"I will be fine, 'Ermione," you reply, at last finding your voice and looking at her. With some effort, you provide a distraction, "Ze class is almost over. Ronald is at ze last ingredient, but 'Arry still 'as to take care of zree."

"You'll tell me later, right?" the Gryffindor inquires, crossing her arms. And she remains unmovable until you confirm with a small nod.

After the girl checks Ronald's cauldron and settles at Harry's side, it's time for the Ravenclaw to start again, still watching you closely. "Better?"

"Sure. Zank you for keeping zis quiet," you say, averting your eyes to the table, and then glancing at the boy that started this.

The look of triumph you see there is more than you can tolerate without going for your wand, so you turn back to Yvonne and unclench your hands to pick up your bag. From the right one, the bezoar you'd forgotten suddenly rolls down and clatters on the table, now blackened and shattering to pieces.

"Will you look at that?" Yvonne asks, amused, poking the remains with the corner of a slip of parchment. "Must be damaged."

"Oui. It seems unfit for use," you add, looking at your hand doubtfully. The small stone is a better resemblance of a lump of coal than a bezoar at the moment. You close your hand and make up your mind. "Yvonne, forgive me, but I need to get out of 'ere."

The blonde doesn't say anything at the odd way she saw you checking your hand. Instead, she tries for casualness, "Yeah, a bit of fresh air will do you good. Go ahead. I'll catch up right away."

You nod, get your bag, slide off the stool, and stand up. On your way out, the Gryffindors are about to finish their potions and you don't disturb them. You try to avoid thinking of the Slytherins that you could be hexing right now. Or anything else, keeping your mind blank.

Without looking back, one pull on the door and there's that cold, dark corridor.

"Going somewhere, Miss Delacour?"

Your legs give up moving.

That distinctive timbre could make you stall even in your dreams. You take your time to turn around, and when you meet his hard eyes, a frosty sensation starts to seep into your skin. It must be a trait from the man himself.

"Professor, our preparations are ready. We'll be back after dinner," Yvonne quickly answers for you, as she steps in place, guiding you outside.

A glimpse of his lips curling slowly is the last you see. Perhaps it was meant to express a smile, although it looked more of a sneer, considering who is doing it.

And then, you're over the threshold, and the door closes swiftly, shunting the classroom away.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: This one is a bit weird. Lots of things going on.

I'd like to thank everyone for the suggestions, pointers, corrections, and criticism in general. There's a lot that slips through, even more so with long chapters, and I'm grateful when it's brought to my attention.

* * *

><p>Chapter 12.<p>

A full ten seconds of quiet stillness is exactly what you needed, and you're grateful Yvonne made no attempt to interrupt that. The blonde is simply standing close by, waiting for you to acknowledge her presence, and probably for signs that you look more whole than you'd been when you left.

The dungeons are a place that causes her some kind of intense agony - Yvonne was quite specific about it - so as soon as your mind and emotions slow down to an easier pace, you turn to look at her.

One glance is enough. All the validation she'd wanted is plain in your expression. The blonde nods, and then she's directing you away, strictly under her surveillance.

The best option at hand is to yield, and that's exactly what you do. There are no thoughts wasted on the scanty lighting, this sinister silence, or how the temperature just plummeted below the minimum levels that should be deemed comfortable. Your single goal now is to tag along, trusting she'll take you far from that classroom.

It's still early when you step into the Entrance Hall and take a deep, cleansing breath. The large chamber is empty, except for a tall silvery ghost, floating by himself while yodeling an unorthodox variation of a Christmas carol. He goes through a wall before you can identify him, and then you start to look around again, trying to find a spot that holds your interest.

You notice the Ravenclaw frowning and glancing at you on occasion through the corner of your eye, which means the prospect of being left alone is most likely nonexistent.

A bothered sigh parts from your lips.

In complete honesty, you've been sufficiently analyzed for one day already. You wish you could just forget about Potions and Slytherins until next week. This short break until dinner should be spent on an entertainment as harmless as watching the slow sway of the Grand Staircase.

But the blonde is of a different mind. She chooses a spot away from the Great Hall to stop and face you, her expression a mixture of shrewdness and apprehension.

"Have you cooled off?" she asks, and you can tell this is only the beginning.

Her voice sounds firm, and you're not ruling out a hint of accusation in its midst. Sure seems like it.

"Oui. Completely," you reply, twisting to glance at a blur of movement by the window.

A very small bird is flying there, in quick circles around the statue of the Architect of Hogwarts. It's a male chaffinch, with a slightly pale orange-red chest. As you watch, it spirals widely to cover the perimeter of the chamber, and then zooms through to the Great Hall.

"Good, because you were scary in there," she mutters, keeping an eye out for newcomers. "I couldn't get through to you, like you were in a trance."

"Zings 'appened too fast. My memory is... unclear until ze moment I realized you were 'olding me down," you admit.

She gives you an odd look that lasts long after you went silent. "He's only a kid. They can say the most asinine things sometimes. Most of them do it for kicks. Malfoy isn't a threat to you."

"Of course not. I know zat." It sounded more forceful than you'd intended, and you search her expression for any evidence of disbelief. "If you zink I could 'urt zat boy, you really should stop worrying about 'im."

The blonde steps closer, her features still tight, though now also curious. "What were you going to do? Enlighten me, will you?"

The embarrassment of having this conversation is bound to last a long time, and you hope your cheeks don't become as colorful as you fear they might. With a gaze fixated on the stones of the floor, your voice comes out a mumbled whisper, "I 'ad zis vague idea... It involved distracting 'im while I sneaked zat bezoar into 'is cauldron."

Surprisingly, the blonde seems to have heard you well. "And that would turn his potion," the Ravenclaw says thoughtfully, calculating, and then she shakes her head, "into something I can't imagine. Can you?"

"Oui," you reply, still avoiding her eyes. "I know zat potion. It lacked a couple of crucial ingredients to be ready. At zat stage, ze bezoar would turn it into a..."

She grinds once more when your hesitation brings your voice so low that she can't hear, "Into what?"

"A stinking bomb," you repeat, correcting your lapse. "Enough to give 'im some trouble at ze end of ze class."

"Was that all?" the Ravenclaw pokes further.

You risk a look up, already frowning. There's no way to enjoy the degree of suspicion that you see there. "You... expected worse."

"Well, yeah! You looked ready to, uhm," she stops and shrugs, her voice wavering under your narrow stare, "hex his bloodline to the fifth generation?"

"What?" The high pitch would certainly be overheard if there was anyone else in the premises.

"I don't really know what Veela can do, okay?" the blonde replies with an irritated and slightly ashamed expression. "But it would be bad. I could see it in your eyes. There was a lot of anger going on in that silver. At the very least, you wanted to punch the little twit unconscious. Don't bother denying it, 'cause I won't have it."

You snort impatiently, looking at the doors to the Great Hall while you mentally wish the bell would ring soon. "You just said 'e is a small kid, and I am very aware of zat. As much as 'e angered me, I would not do anything to 'im."

"Why not?" she whispers softly, in a secretive tone. "I might."

The indignation in your voice only escalates, and you start to rub away the sharp stings in your temples, "I cannot believe my ears. You were scolding me a second ago for zat same reason. And now it is fine because it is you?"

"You didn't let me finish," she amends, protesting. "I might... if I really cared for the person he was insulting."

In surprise, your eyes are drawn to that dilating smile. Which quickly turns into a smirk.

You sigh. Not again.

"I was right, yes? You like her," the Ravenclaw presses on, her voice even lower when she sees a pair of Hufflepuffs turning a corner into the Hall, "and not as a friend."

"Please." You treat her newest foray into the recurrent subject with the most dismissive expression you can arrange on your face.

Her lips twist at their right corner, and you can hear the undertones of light sarcasm. "Please? Please, what? You and Hermione scream 'obvious.' And you do it in chorus."

"Zere is nothing obvious," you counter calmly, not giving anything away.

More students are popping up by the minute, each one looking out for their peers and bundling in small packs.

"It's smarter to admit it," Yvonne states seriously. From the way she straightens her spine to increase her height an infinitesimal bit, you can see she's determined to not let this go. "Malfoy didn't get a reaction from you till he changed his target to _her_, and then you were jumping up to make him very, very sorry."

You release a thwarted sigh and close your eyes, feeling the urge to flee of a cornered animal. This conversation hadn't been in your plans. You keep telling yourself that there won't be many more like it, anyway. The secrets and hiding are only a temporary device, until Hermione is ready to move forward. And it won't be a minute too soon when it happens.

"So," she goes on slowly, in an even more measured whisper, "about that claim of friendship..."

Your eyes snap open and you watch her critically, for anything that hints at deceit or obscure intentions. That isn't what you find there. What you _do_ notice is how she's being furtive, careful to keep your exchange private. Her concern seems genuine and selfless.

Against any logical explanation, and even your better judgment, somewhere in your gut that feeling about the Ravenclaw is still firmly in place.

Perhaps the blonde deserves that little credit.

"Okay, fine. You are correct. We like each uzzer more zan friends," you finally confess, though somewhat miffed. "'Appy now?"

That cracks the tension instantly, and she smiles her wholesome satisfaction, "Yeah, very much. I thought you'd fight harder. I had a list of arguments in my head."

Your eyes roll towards the ceiling, fueled by the many unexpected twists in this conversation, though you allow a small smile to sneak through to her. It's quite tiny, but a smile nevertheless. "Zen I am really glad we skipped zat."

The weight of what you've just shared barely has a chance to settle, and there isn't time for any serious soul-searching. You see Cora and Reva coming down the stairs, and the rest of the senior class is little behind them. Yvonne glances at your friends with caution, and they both nod in your general direction before Reva hauls Cora into the Great Hall. The blonde's frown follows the taller of the two until she's out of sight.

Taking the opportunity while she's distracted, you try to put an end to this. "Look, it is over, nothing really 'appened, and I am calm now, okay? Can we not talk about zis any longer?" you plead, taking a tentative step away.

"Actually, no, don't go just yet," she says, blocking your progress with an open hand. You could easily go around the simple gesture, but she isn't being pushy, and there's an air of urgency to the blonde. "You should watch your step. Malfoy was seriously baiting you."

"Oui, and 'Arry, 'Ermione, Ronald, and ze Gryffindors in general, too. 'E seems to 'ave a problem wiz some people. Zat was not ze first time we antagonize each uzzer," you shrug, stepping back where you were, and very aware of how the bubble of space between you and the many students in the Entrance Hall has shrunk in the last minutes.

"No, that's not it. I'm trying to open your eyes," she prompts, pulling you farther away from anyone that can overhear. "That drivel on mixed blood was meant for you, too, and he'd said more about Muggles and Muggle-borns. It was deliberate. I got the feeling Hagrid was collateral damage. Every time, he checked for your reaction."

"Are you sure?" The tight wrinkles on your forehead should indicate how nonsensical this is. "Why would 'e pick a fight wiz me? No fourth-year in zeir right mind would challenge a senior."

"It wasn't that kind of challenge. I doubt he'd want to duel a senior, especially when she's the champion of her school," the blonde argues in a resolute tone, with a smile curving her lips. But then, out of nowhere, her expression becomes more serious, and rather odd. "Is that the way you do it at Beauxbatons?"

"Of course!" You are surprised that she'd even consider such a question, "Zat is 'ow we settle ze more significant differences."

She mumbles something under her breath that you strain to listen, but only 'hot-blooded' makes it to your ears.

"Hmm?"

"Uhm, how do I say this?" Yvonne scratches her temple while pursing her lips. "We don't go down that route very often. Duels are extremely rare at Hogwarts."

"Oh," you frown at that. "I wondered if you did it in secret. Zere were no duels 'ere since we arrived."

"Yeah, and, well, it really wasn't his approach, was it? I don't believe Malfoy intended to fight you. He's smart enough to stay out of trouble. All he did was play with words in class, when his favorite professor was conveniently at hand." The blonde moves closer, grips your arm, and nearly speaks into your ear, "I won't tell you what he wanted, because I honestly can't guess. Whatever it was, though, he looked like he got it when you left like that."

_That_ part you know to be true. For a moment, you'd lost all references. With nothing more than arrogance and a bunch of words, that boy had pushed you over an invisible line that you'd never crossed. You remember the proud gloating on his face, how that grin was a clear statement of success. It leads you to believe that perhaps pure-bloods at Hogwarts are a bit more fanatical than you'd thought.

The odd thing is that you can't figure out what he gained by such a scheme. A first glimpse at your change in eye color? The basic satisfaction of annoying you? Or could this be payback for that episode with Peeves?

"Zis is absurd," you hiss without enthusiasm.

"Yeah, it was strange," she prompts half-heartedly, matching your thoughtful streak. "I still can't get over it was only a brat. You should've handled him better than that. You've faced the worse of worst without a blink."

Your rising eyebrow is instantly rewarded with an answer.

"Snape," she whispers, shrugging.

"I was too... affected. I could not 'old back my anger," you grumble, rearranging the bag on your shoulder, and enjoying a short pause to roll your stiff muscles back and forth.

"Relax your face. People might think we're having an argument," the blonde requests softly, and you school your features in accordance. "I know how a quick temper can get the best of us in the heat of the moment. I've been a living testament to that myself," her face darkens, and the girl struggles to pluck the words out, "ever since Potions."

"My temper never acted up like zat," you state in a firmer tone, assuring the blonde that your regular range of behavior doesn't include that particular alternative.

"This time, it involved Hermione." Yvonne's stare is piercing as she speaks, filled with the self-confidence of one who just hit the bull's-eye. "You might want to be more careful when something concerns her."

Thoughts of the brunette flip around in your mind, stirring your feelings in a degree that only reinforces the blonde's conclusion. You nod at last, conceding how transparent that display must've been to an attentive observer, just as Yvonne is proving to be.

A sudden noise has several heads turning, including yours, to a long line of students climbing from the dungeons. Hermione and her friends should be here in no time, plus a few unpleasant others who are surely on their way, as well.

As your stare moves about, you realize that the Entrance Hall has filled nicely over the past minutes, now taken over by a sea of black robes, with the occasional blue and dark red uniforms standing out.

The Ravenclaw clears her throat and you notice she's frowning in the direction of the new arrivals. She swings her head subtly away, towards the Great Hall, "About time we find our seats, isn't it?"

At last, you are both on the same brainwave, and you assent all too quickly. You can use a bit of time around a friendly group of people, and the earlier you go to dinner, the sooner you'll be ready to get that potion out of the way. Side by side, you stride leisurely, cranking through the tight maze of students.

"Give it BACK!"

You both stop in your tracks at the angry holler to your right, almost being run over by a few Slytherin boys buzzing through. They're laughing and hovering a wand up in the air, just out of reach from a pursuing Gryffindor. The desperate and much shorter boy jumps as high as he can to get it, with no luck.

"Or what?" the Slytherins sneer in derision, winding away.

That kind of exchange was bound to draw attention, and you see Gryffindors from all corners of the Hall start to converge towards the commotion.

"Uh-oh," Yvonne breathes. "This isn't good. It needs to stop now."

As if following the blonde's suggestion, the running stops as suddenly as it had started. And you soon understand why.

"Now, now. Take it easy," an authoritative yet kind tone is overheard, and you recognize Cedric Diggory's smooth voice. The flashy Prefect badge rests on his chest, and when he flicks a quick spell, the wand in the air rushes to his waiting hand. He smiles calmly at the boys involved, "Enough playing around, I reckon. Go on, get ready for dinner."

The Slytherins vanish at once, not waiting for the Hogwarts champion to issue any punishments. Oddly, the Gryffindor boy takes his wand and bolts into the crowd without as much as a 'thank you'.

Cedric shakes his head and walks straight to his girlfriend. On his way, the boy bows his head at you, and you smile back. The last time you talked to him was at the Yule Ball, only a handful of words traded over the music, and his handsome face melting into an expression of utter joy whenever his eyes darted to his date. He's always been very polite to you and a pleasant company, not too preoccupied with the fact that the Tournament supposedly turned you into adversaries.

You resume the march, and later wave at a grinning Cho Chang. They really look good with each other.

"It just occurred to me," Yvonne whispers seriously, "do you need help? Is there anything that could've stopped what happened earlier?"

The smile falters on your lips. What a way to get you back to reality. You cast a glance at the blonde, considering her questions.

Help. _Help_... Your mind skips to the Veela and their offer. Their insistence. Anca's concern.

It might've been premature not to listen, to think you were so capable, so in control. On the other hand, they'd been worried about your charms. You don't see the connection with this.

"Perhaps I should get 'elp," you reply in complete honesty. "But I may not find ze type of assistance I need 'ere. I zink I 'ave to talk to Veela."

"Okay, you probably know what's best in that area," she adds, wearing a resigned look. She probably doesn't know how your own helplessness in that field isn't too far from hers. "Can I make one last suggestion?"

You nod at her expectant expression, already wondering what she has to add.

The blonde glances even more uncertainly at you, "Protect yourself. Don't let anyone see your Veela traits, like the silver eyes, for instance. Keep them away in a disagreement."

"What 'as zat got to do wiz anything?" you ask flatly, losing a considerable amount of good humor in the process.

"Please, don't be upset." The blonde's voice is as low a whisper as possible while you walk, "The Malfoys must be very uptight pure-bloods. Anything you do to oppose the kid can be used against you by his parents, one day. If it came to light that you were not entirely human when it happened, they might blow it out of proportion."

You sigh. Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hogwarts. You dealt with all this at Beauxbatons a long time ago. And you believed, then, that it had been enough for a lifetime.

Apparently not.

Reaching the Great Hall, you are soon sitting down at the Ravenclaw table, surrounded by the elder students, from your class. All around you, they are retelling the best parts of the other presentations that you'd missed in Transfiguration Class.

Yvonne and you enjoy the detailed descriptions of the ideas chosen by each group to demonstrate the spells. The enthusiasm and easy laughter show that they had a great afternoon.

The ceiling above projects a sky of darkening blue, in deep contrast to the bright light from the floating candles. Each table admits more and more chatty students, while the staff quietly shuffles to their places. It doesn't take long for the fourth-years to pop up, and the brunette girl you hoped to glimpse again sends you a shy smile that looks so cute, it makes the hardest parts of the afternoon worth to endure.

Her friends sit at her sides and you watch the trio carefully. The boys are a sullen mess at each of the girl's sides, and her hair is a tight tangle yet again.

You shake your head slowly. Potions class definitely isn't very good for either one of them.

Plates of food with marvelous aromas appear everywhere, and the conversations are put on hold, while short and expressive praises to the culinary skills of the elves become abundant.

Félicie has a large grin as she chooses various portions of food, and when she notices you are looking at her, she leans forward and mouths 'Damus was wrong. No eyeballs and no bats'. You chuckle at that, checking curiously around to make sure the predictions are, indeed, incorrect.

"I'll try to be quick, Fleur," Yvonne says when she starts cutting into a dark meat.

That's the smart way to do it, so you stay attentive to keep up with Yvonne throughout the meal and to avoid being the reason for any delays.

You just put the goblet down and continue eating calmly, when Alix starts at your side, "Fleur was telling us 'ow you are lucky zere are so many attractive boys 'ere, at 'Ogwarts, Ophelia."

Your head turns around so fast to look at Alix that you miss your open mouth, and jab the forkful of steak-and-kidney pudding on your right cheek.

The sixth-year girl she's addressing, Ophelia Rushden, smiles amicably and squeaks, "I totally agree, aren't they? We have very handsome wizards this year."

Cho Chang nods at Alix and you, quickly turning around to glance at her boyfriend. You finally remember to put the fork down and distractedly clean your cheek.

Loretta Cornhill, a senior girl sitting at the other side of Cho Chang, and that you recognize as a friend of a certain Applebee, chips in, "Why don't you tell us who the French champion says is good-looking? That should be interesting."

Alix answers right away, pointing at you, "Zat is for Fleur to say. I could not speak for 'er in such zings."

Your cheeks are aflame, and you suspect your jaw must be dislodged. It's the explanation for this unstoppable gape, right?

Yvonne hides a chuckle behind a napkin when she notices that you are now glaring daggers, halberds and maces at your alleged best friend. Alix only smiles back at you, in an extremely saccharine way, supporting her chin on a hand and blinking repeatedly, as she bats long eyelashes at you.

"Hmm..." You stall, thinking hard.

This is tough. You wouldn't be caught dead complimenting Roger Davies after what happened at the Yule Ball. You don't want to mention any of the other champions, either, and you most definitely refuse to start fiction stories about how you have a crush on A or B.

As you look around at the girls expecting your answer, your eyes scan the Hall discreetly, as if there was an emergency escape route that you'd missed to consider before. Alix chuckles at the look on your face, probably feeling more and more satisfied with herself.

Yvonne must have taken pity on you, for she starts to budge from her seat and her clear voice reaches all around, "I'm sorry, I have to interrupt everyone's entertainment. I believe you all know Snape is expecting us. Tonight Fleur and I need to make up for the latest renovations we carried out on the Potions classroom without his consent."

The result is soft giggling and a few sympathetic nods.

"Our appetites aren't doing too well, so it's time to go back to the dungeons," the blonde continues, just as Professor Snape leaves the staff table. "Ready, Fleur?"

From the size of your smile she can probably gauge your sincere disposition to disappear from the premises.

Alix doesn't look too thrilled, but she shrugs and leans close to whisper safely by your ear, "See how that feels?"

"Oh, I do, and you were a lot worse than me," you accuse, keeping your voice low. "I would trade themes with you without a second thought, anytime, anywhere... Quidditch versus the boys I _like_? Really, Alix? That was evil of you. Those girls are dying to get their hands on more gossip."

"You'd find a way out of it. You always do," she says with a carefree smile, and you wonder if she really trusts so much your ability to talk yourself out of a tough spot or if she's just being overly optimistic.

You grasp your bag and she touches your hand for a moment. There's a more neutral expression on her face. "If you finish early, we'll be at the library for a while. You can return with us."

"Thanks. It all depends on things going well. That professor might keep us late if he wants to punish us for whatever reason," you reply, making a face.

She nods as you stand, and try to glance at Hermione one more time, before turning to leave. Your stares don't meet, unfortunately, and it can't be helped. You have to go now. Professor Snape shouldn't be kept waiting.

Yvonne and you walk at either sides of the table, crossing the Great Hall to meet at the doors. Once you're moving into the Entrance Hall, Cora calls out to you, "Good luck, tonight!"

You turn and smile at her, but Yvonne mumbles something, and once again it's barely intelligible to you. You get a few words, delivered in a rather acidic tone, "... hard work, not luck."

"Yvonne, Yvonne," you chant warningly, in a whisper. "She was being friendly. Be nice, hmm?"

The blonde squares her jaw, and her expression remains hard on the way to your destination. She's somewhere so deep into her thoughts that you doubt the Ravenclaw noticed you've made it to the dungeons.

But _you_ did. And this time around you're very aware of everything about the place.

The overlong silence would be bad enough in any other part of the castle. Here, it's of an absolute oppressing quality. You look cautiously at the scarce flames and the irregular shadows. The more you walk down the corridor, the colder you feel, and you suspect it has little to do with the temperature. The dungeons are nothing short of disturbing.

There seems to be something malevolent, old and ingrained here, something trapped for too long, that radiates from the stones in the ceiling, the walls, the ground, from the very air, that is spreading around you, reaching towards you, infiltrating your clothes, contaminating your skin-

'Enough!' you shout in your head.

After a quick shiver, you draw your wand and set it to work. There goes the first warming charm of the night. And a reinforcement to the torches, as an added bonus.

Yvonne is startled by the spells, but the blonde quickly understands after checking your current location. Once again, she moves closer to you, and a look of dread takes over her face.

"Merci... For before, wiz Alix," you say quietly, in a provisional attempt to rectify her mood a bit. She probably doesn't need you to elaborate further.

"It's okay," the blonde replies calmly. "She was having too much fun."

"I never zought I would be anxious to get 'ere," you comment, at the sight of the right door.

"Me too. Let's finish this soon, yes?" she asks, trying to sound encouraging.

"Of course. I cannot wait to put zis potion behind us," you agree, pulling the door open and waiting for the blonde to pass.

Striding inside, you both nod at the professor sitting at his desk, and you can feel his dark eyes following you to the back of the classroom.

"Everything looks in place, as we left them," the blonde reports, glancing quickly at the ingredients while you extract your Potions book and find the right page.

"At zis rate, we will soon know ze potion from memory. We might not even need zis book anymore," you complain, lacking enthusiasm.

"Hopefully, it won't go that far," she remarks as you arrange the tools.

You look ahead at the professor, and he seems to be very engrossed in a book now, though his expression is far from pleased. The lines on his face reveal a clear disagreement with what he's finding there. The wizard shakes his head at several parts, sometimes impatiently flipping a page.

A witty remark about that is dancing at the edge of your tongue, when he raises the tome temporarily as he shifts into a more comfortable position, and your stomach drops in recognition.

That's a very familiar book. _Your_ book. The one he snatched away.

You frown in defiance. What gives him the right to read it?

At last, he puts it away in a drawer and starts going through rolls of parchment, probably homework that some of the other classes turned in.

"Would you like to try something different this time?" the blonde offers, distracting you.

Professor Snape is set aside in your mind, to give room to your present ordeal. This should be taking all your attention. "What are you suggesting?"

"We could trade roles," she shrugs and smiles, taking a step back from the table. "I get a turn with the cauldron, you handle knife, mortar and pestle. And we'll cross-check the ingredients together. Would that be okay by you?"

"Are you sure? Taking care of ze ladle can be a little boring," you tell her truthfully. The long periods of stewing and changing stirring directions are still clear from your memories.

"It's fine, really. You can tell me the parts where I have to be more careful," she replies in a light tone.

"Okay. Any pointers for me?" you continue, separating the first sequence of ingredients and putting them in order.

The Ravenclaw sets the flames under the cauldron to the right temperature, and the brewing begins. "Your part is very standard. The Murtlap tentacles are a little tricky to chop, but that's closer to the end. I had it easy, yesterday."

You nod, though not in complete agreement, and check the book, keeping the flow of ingredients until it's time to reduce dragon horns to dust. Dark fumes are already rising from the cauldron, confirming that it's working out well.

The pestle comes to a stop and the powder makes the potion blob louder, immediately changing it into a thick orange.

"Now we have nothing to do for a while," the blonde says, using her wand to command the ladle into self-stirring at the correct rate.

You give her a smile, pick up your bag and retrieve quill and parchment. "Not exacly. I 'ave an idea to keep us busy. Professor Snape wants us to do an essay on ze failed potion. We could do it now, non?"

"Yeah, better now than during the weekend," Yvonne is in complete agreement, from the expression on her face. "And it'll be simple enough. All we have to do is copy everything from the textbook, except that last ingredient."

"I 'ave requested more arils, and zey will arrive zis Sunday," you inform her. "Zen I can weigh ze right amount to add zat bit to ze essay."

She nods, sits closer to you, and picks up the book. The blonde dictates the list of ingredients as you jot the information down in nice handwriting, taking your time so you don't finish too fast and have to wait on the potion.

As you are moving on to the instructions, the stewing liquid starts to sputter and Yvonne sets the book down.

She checks the cauldron and alternates stirring directions, "You should start chopping the dandelion roots. We'll need them very soon."

"Of course," you reply, leaving quill and parchment on the table at your right.

The handful of roots is neatly organized in compact small stacks, and you start to mince them to the required size. Your attention is committed to the rhythm of the blade, the grating sounds and the sharp odor wafting from the fresh cuts. You move swiftly, from stack to stack, to have them ready in time for Yvonne.

"Why didn't you tell me you were faster with the knife than I am?" Yvonne asks.

"Hmm?" you frown, looking from the amused girl to the ingredients. Her tone seemed neutral, but you can't be sure it's safe to trust that. "I am not faster. You did very well yesterday."

"Yes, you are," she deadpans. "And better, too. You cut pieces to perfect symmetry. Where did you learn that?"

"Wiz-" you blurt before your brain reminds you that's something to be shared with caution.

What is it about Yvonne that makes your brakes kick in always a second too late during Potions?

"With?" she prods, expectantly.

You put the knife down, rub your hands together, and then set them calmly on the table, before letting your face rotate left to look at her. "Wiz Coraline, Yvonne. We were partners many times in Potions during our early years together in school. She showed me many zings, including ways to improve 'ow I processed ze ingredients."

Frowning now, she stays quiet and her stare drifts to the concoction boiling in the cauldron. Her face remains clenched in the same expression, and you decide to leave it at that. Her steady silence seems to be a good cue to continue your work.

"Is she really that good?"

The question is only a breath above the soft hisses and bubbling from the cooking cauldron, but you can feel the shift in atmosphere, the wealth of emotions behind the short selection of words.

"Oui, she is," you reply, stilling your hands briefly, before restarting the knife at a slower rate. "Most of us, ze team from Beauxbatons, were chosen because we do well in classes, and eventually stand out a little in zis or zat out of personal preferences. But a few of ze girls are exceptional at one field in particular, zeir natural talent. Like Cora, in Potions."

"It doesn't change a thing," the crestfallen blonde retorts stubbornly, in a hurt voice. She shivers suddenly and casts a warming charm that reaches both of you. "What she did was disappointing. I thought she was fun and nice-"

"And you zought _right_," you interrupt categorically, handing her the sliced ingredient. "Cora is all zat."

"Then why did she spy on me when I was preparing the potion?" she finds the outlet to protest without losing fervor, as she showers the roots into the cauldron and the potion splashes angrily. "The supervision agenda was unnecessary. That attitude only tells me she thinks you are all so much better than us."

"Non, she does not zink zat way," you are careful to lower your voice to a calm murmur, shaking your head in a slow swing. And then your mind considers a different tactic. "Look, if I tell you what I zink, can you promise me you will keep it to yourself?"

She nods, suddenly more interested, and looking less sulky. Perhaps a little hopeful, too, though you can't be completely sure.

"You are as curious about us, foreigners, as we are about you. I zink she wanted to watch your work, to watch _you_ work," you pause and let the words sink in before you continue. "Perhaps she did not choose ze most appealing way to 'elp you to understand, I get zat, but I remember Cora used to say she could guess a lot about someone by ze methods zey applied wiz zeir potions."

You hear one loud snort as she intensifies the flames under the cauldron. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I suppose you do not 'ave to believe it," you say in an appeasing tone, thinking about how the same girl said she could tell a good kisser by simply watching them.

One look at Yvonne's face and you are convinced it might be better to keep that information to yourself.

"Why would I? That's ridiculous," she retorts, chuckling darkly.

You shrug. "Or not. Consider ze possibility. What if Cora can do zat and she was curious to learn more about you?"

The blonde leans on her left leg, cocking her hip, and folds her arms, chewing over your arguments. You watch her closely, as well-hidden emotions barely dent her features. It doesn't last long, though. You don't need to hear the conclusion to know it wasn't exactly favorable to your point of view. But at least she seems to come to a decision.

The blonde shakes her head, and turns to face you squarely. "I like her, okay? You trusted me with your secret, so I'll trust you back, and say it. I really like her."

The admission is so spontaneous and such great news that the large smile overriding your previous expression is a shiny reflection of your sincere happiness. She takes notice, of course, and it temporarily disarms her.

The blonde forgets the on-going argument and a small smile escapes her, too, but in a much shyer version than your own, "Yeah, you heard right."

"It is liberating to say it out loud, non?" you confide in a whisper, stretching the moment a bit more.

You set the next series of ingredients in order and she carefully double checks each one, adding them to the cauldron. The vapors are becoming darker, as they should be. It's time to grind Mandrake roots, so she continues ladling the steaming mix and adjusting the direction of stirring, while you prepare that ingredient.

She nods, looking uneasy. "Things should be different. This Potions problem has been the most unpleasant shock. I did not believe Coraline could make me feel like I wasn't good enough. It's not, well, it's just wrong. Coming from anyone else, I could take it, I really could. From her, though, it's way too painful."

"I understand what you are saying," you try to find some common ground with her, to lessen so much disquiet. It isn't hard to imagine how it must feel in her shoes. "I also know it is not what she zinks of you. Cora has been trying to tell you zat, and apologize. And she will continue to do so, because she means it."

"I will accept her apologies," the blonde whispers prudently. "I wonder how helpful that might be to our situation. Every time we share a Potions class, I'll wonder what she's thinking of me."

"I see..." you reply, saddened by that. There's quite some damage to her confidence that needs to be remedied. Or is it too late? "So, you are going to stay away from 'er?"

"I haven't made up my mind," she shrugs, gazing idly at the fizzling potion. "It isn't fair like this. I really don't know what to do."

You grind the last sample of the roots, thinking up ways to reason with her.

"More work."

You both bounce at the clipped, icy tone, instantly looking up at the prowling wizard.

"Less talk," he finishes.

"Oui, professor," you mumble, and the small pride you felt at sounding coherent withers to nothingness under his powerful gaze.

Yvonne only nods, staying silent and with eyes wide in shock. The blonde apparently didn't get over the shock of the failed potion, yet. You pass her the powdered Mandrakes and it cheers her a little to have something to do, instead of shifting from foot to foot with the guilty expression of being caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

Keeping your head buried in the book, you barely register the way he stares quietly into the cauldron to check the color has reached the desired shade of green, and then at the ingredients on the table. There's nothing to criticize, so you straighten up a little and look surreptitiously at the mass of black robes whisking away to the front desk.

A long breath puffs through your lips and you frown. That's the second time he sneaks up on you. Where are your supersensory abilities when you really need them? They should have better timing to decide to work. You'd be smiling like a fool if you had picked up any signals from the moment he stood up from his chair.

The shaken blonde clears her throat and you glance at her. You try to smile and invite her over, "Ze potion needs to cook. Let us continue wiz ze essay, hmm?"

"O-okay," she stutters a little, then seals her lips to gather herself.

You start copying down the long list of instructions, and the Ravenclaw patiently recites each one slowly, keeping up with the speed of your writing. Her voice sounds better as more and more lines take shape and you move down the parchment.

"Time to get on with the potion. Can you hand me the next components?" she asks, getting up and lowering the temperature of the flames.

"Of course. We were almost finished, anyway," you reply, rolling the parchment and adhering to the guidelines from the book. "Zis is when you should be more careful wiz ze ladle. Too many changes in a short time."

She nods and you proceed, taking every precaution possible to do it right. Weighed salts, spoonfuls of honeywater, strips of bark and juice of Horklumps are soon mixed in, while the brew rotates this way or that at the blonde's hands.

"I can finish the next one. The Murtlap tentacles are trickier to chop," she says and you step away to gather that peculiar ingredient.

When you are about to grasp the knife, she makes a final remark, "And don't forget, they're supposed to be cut crosswise."

You turn to look at her with an eyebrow already clambering up, noticing her large, sheepish grin.

Smiling back and shaking your head, you retort as you lean over the tentacles and start slicing, "I will try to keep zat in mind."

You fall into the methodical role too easily, chopping the rubbery cylinders as the potent splutters coming from the cauldron start a contest with your knife to see which can make the loudest noises.

It would be quite distracting in itself, except your mind is still set on the previous conversation, and the blonde's inner conflict.

"I was zinking," you start slowly, with your eyes set on your work. "You are taking it so badly because Cora is very good at Potions. But zere is no going around zat. Potions is ze zing wiz zat girl."

"Yes, I get it," she responds without a drop of mirth. And then she adds weakly, in a slightly bitter tone. "She's perfection on a plate. No, even better, perfection on a _cauldron_. And I can never compare."

"Non. Listen to me, first," you cut in, glancing at her to emphasize that she should pay attention. "You are missing to see zat she takes special pride wiz Potions because she is extremely good at it. She 'as reason to be proud. And I never saw 'er put anyone down because zey were not as good as she is. Uzzer zan zat, she does fairly well in most of ze uzzer classes."

Yvonne is about to say something, but you keep on going, "Please, just listen... I said most." You stop, after the extra stress on the word. "Are you following?"

Reluctantly, she nods.

"_Except_ for Divination and Astronomy. Cora is terrible at zose. She zinks Divination classes are useless-"

"Which they kind of are, unless you are a natural Seer," she agrees.

"Cora most certainly is not, zat much I know. If zat is what you zink, I assume you must be one, zen?" you inquire curiously. "Zat was ze class you 'ad zis morning, non?"

"Yeah, I take Divination. I'm not a Seeress, though. I simply have free time for that class," she shrugs. "And the professor's theatrics are amusing."

Containing an incredulous look with difficulty, you let that slide and keep on, "And... ah, oui, Astronomy. She cannot remember 'alf ze constellations."

The blonde can't hide back an interested look now. "Mmm? But Cora takes Astronomy with us. That's NEWT level."

You nod. "She would never cheat on an exam, and ze anti-cheating spells were severe during our OWLs. But it is a mystery, even to 'erself, 'ow she managed a passing grade. You see, Cora cannot _find_ 'alf of ze constellations, even wiz a star chart in 'er 'ands and a telescope aiming straight at zem. And she does not agree wiz 'ow zey are called..." you fight to suppress a smile, speeding up with the knife to stay focused. "Did you know zat she makes up 'er own names for each of zem?"

Yvonne doesn't look too impressed. "That can be a good mnemonic aid, actually, to make it easier for her."

"Perhaps," you reply, conceading. "But when she forgets zat 'Broken Lollypop' was supposed to be 'Ursa Minor' and writes down ze wrong name on an exam, it is a bit of a stretch to expect zat it goes unnoticed. Once she even tried to argue wiz our professor zat 'er names made more sense."

"She really did that?" the blonde asks, even more curious at your visible nod. "And?"

That smile almost finds a way to your lips as you recall the memories. "Ze outcome was detention for a week, charting stars zrough a meteor shower."

"A meteor shower?" her voice reveals more confusion. "What's that got to do with anything? There's no way to mix stars and meteors."

"Of course not," you lower your head until it's almost painful to your neck, as if checking the last handful of tentacles, just in case you can't control your face. "Unless your name is Coraline Sauvage, apparently. 'Er charts from zat detention are still 'anging on ze Board of Fame at our dorm, in Beauxbatons. We 'ad zem framed. Cora became quite a celebrity because of zem."

Yvonne chuckles for a bit, but seems to have second thoughts, and it dies down.

"Poor thing," she finally says. The blonde seems sincerely touched, and her expression becomes thoughtful for a while, before reversing into slight sadness. "So she's human, after all."

"Oh, she is. Very much so. Cora is a great 'uman being," you reassure her with a very large smile, as you offer her the chopped tentacles. "She took it all in stride, and still laughs when anyone brings up ze charts, accepting well 'er shortcomings. We all know 'ow she is in Astronomy, and she always 'as 'elp when she 'its a tight spot. Just like she keeps track of 'ow we do in Potions, and takes care of anyone zat needs it."

The tentacles are added to the cauldron and you reach for the last ingredient.

She finally smiles, rather shyly, and whispers, "I'm glad you told me."

"Sure," you say, shredding the dittany in a small pile, right by the cauldron. When you are finished, you pick the pieces in your hands and look at her, wiggling your eyebrows, "Are you ready? Where are ze drum rolls?"

The Ravenclaw rolls her eyes and waves both hands towards the bubbling mixture, urging you to put an end to the final obligation of a week of school.

You raise your hands over the cauldron and bring them apart. Weak splatters are followed by dramatic hissing, and then the potion turns the final shade in color, after the fourth clockwise swirl.

"That was almost poetic," Yvonne remarks playfully, with a bit of sarcasm. "I'll remember this moment for years to come."

Chuckling, you start to clean up the table and stow book, parchment and quill in your bag. Yvonne places the lid carefully on the cauldron, picks up her things, and you both walk to the front of the classroom.

"We completed the first stage, sir," the Ravenclaw takes the lead, not flinching this time around. "All according to plan."

The professor nods curtly, and you notice he's in the middle of grading an extremely long essay, written in tiny handwriting. It's a wonder he can even read it without any type of magical aid. You take a better look and something about it strikes you as oddly... familiar.

"In time for the minimum period of stewing," he says coolly, "so you will continue to the next stage. Leave the cauldron, and don't forget to do your extra essay."

Trying to be inconspicuous, you search for the name of the author, at the top of the parchment in his hands. And then you have to bite the inside of your cheeks when you find it.

"Yes, sir." Your turn to answer now, and do it quickly, wondering if you'll be able to suppress a smile long enough not to show it in front of him.

Who else but the cute brunette would do such an extensive and detailed composition?

His stare returns to the homework and stays there, reading line after line of the lengthy parchment. Many more rolls are arranged at his left, and if those are going to require just as much dedication, then he has enough work ahead to last him a long time.

Yvonne starts to fidget, looking unsure on what to do, since there was no official dismissal. Perhaps his last words were meant to allude at it, and he's just too focused on his activity now to notice you're still standing there. It might be a good moment to test the possibility.

You nod once at the blonde, and then incline your head in the direction of the exit. She nods back and, without further delay, you both walk briskly away and out the corridor, before he can consider a change of mind.

It hasn't even closed in place and you're already bustling away, stealing quick glances over your shoulders, as if expecting a bad surprise. Probably thinking the same, you turn and rush into the bathroom together, where you are swift to neaten your robes, and then clean out your hands from unwanted residues.

Carefully, the door of the bathroom is pushed open just a crack to inspect the corridor. At no sign of the professor anywhere, you bolt to the stairs as fast as your legs can carry you (and your shoes allow), while still trying to be silent. You exchange a nervous glance when you get there, both breathing hard, though it's more from the sneaking around and a sudden giddiness than from any real exertion.

Your smiles begin when you set foot on the stairway, and they only grow as you flee up. The first bout of giggles bursts free after you lose sight of the depressive dungeons. From then on, the higher you climb, the stronger the laughter that sparks from both of you, breezy and genial, washing away the concerns from your minds. Half through the stairs, you're almost doubling over and need to stop for a few moments, unable to continue.

"What a climb!" the blonde whispers, mixing giggles and words as she leans back against the wall to catch her breath.

"We really did it!" Your voice comes out all squeaky and you cover your mouth in embarrassment, which only makes her laugh harder.

You stay silent, looking at each other for a while as your heartbeats ease down, and smiling like it's the only intelligent thing your brains still recall how to do.

"Thank you, for so many things," she says, breathing at a slower rate. "It was a good day, even with two rounds of Potions."

"I feel like I should zank you more. You 'elped me a lot today, not just now," you reply, as you realize the Entrance Hall is right ahead. "And you are very good at Potions. Never zink uzzerwise."

The blonde smiles quietly and points at the remaining steps, "Time to rest, at last, yes?"

"Oui, finally," you return, exhaling loudly in satisfaction, and moving up the stairs with her, at a much slower speed. "I would like to get comfortable in my room right away."

She nods, glancing up, "I'd like to pick up a book from the library first, before I climb the Ravenclaw Tower."

That leaves you thinking. It's so simple for her to move inside the castle, first to the library, and then back to her Common Room, without a single concern in mind. In your case, returning to the carriage means stalking through the grounds at night, in the dark, by yourself, and close to the forest.

You wonder if it would be wiser to go with Yvonne and look for your friends, although deep down you doubt any of them would stay this late here, when it can't compare to the homey comforts of the carriage.

One last step and you are now bathed in the more abundant light from the torches of the large Hall. It's very quiet here, except for the occasional rolling noises made by the Grand Staircase.

"Hello!"

You both spin at the sound of the unexpected voice, Yvonne probably in bewilderment, while you do it eagerly.

Hermione is sitting on one of the steps of the marble staircase, smiling and waving at you. You smile back, and Yvonne lifts her right hand to wiggle her fingers at the brunette.

The blonde then moves past you, pointing at the doors, "I better go. There's the matter of that book. I'll have to leave you."

Her intent is clear, and you are grateful for that perceptiveness. "Good night, Yvonne."

"Good night, girls," the blonde replies, nodding at the brunette before adding a wink at you.

Hermione stands up, aiming an intrigued look at the Ravenclaw, and your stares follow the retreating blonde until she leaves for the courtyard. Only after she's gone you turn around, to watch as the brunette slowly steps down to meet you.

With a smile and a reach for the girl's right hand, you stop her at the last step, where she stands an inch taller than you. Almost at eyelevel with each other, you risk an abrupt glance into her eyes, fast as a dart. It goes on for less than a second, though, and you quickly draw your gaze down, just in time. Once more, the undeniable pull was there, as intense as before, like a maelstrom in a vast sea of brown, ready to snare you into its vortex.

The brunette notices your attention is now drawn to your joined hands, and she changes them around, so now she's the one enveloping you, softly rubbing the back of your hand. You smile at that light touch, at the feeling of smoothness and slightly colder skin, and there's no protest, only a few chuckles, when you change their positions back the other way again, hiding her hand into your grasp.

"My lovely girl," you start, hoping it sounds charming, and not overly serious, "to what do I owe zis pleasure?"

"I'm here to see you, Fleur," she says in a tone that indicates how that should be obvious, although she can't stop her cheeks from changing to a light pink. The brunette takes a deep breath and smiles, "And to check on you, too. How did you do this time?"

"Everything went fine," you reply as you play with her hand to loosely knot your fingers, reveling at how well they fold and move in place, as interlocking pieces that recognized each other. "And your friends? 'Ow was it for 'Arry and Ronald?"

"They managed, I think. Their samples were rather good," she murmurs. The brunette bites her lip and looks at you in such an intense way that you know she's after any signs of complications. "So Snape really didn't give you a hard time?"

You shake your head and smile serenely at her, "Non, it was really fine. Ze potion was a success."

"That's a relief," the brunette says in a calmer voice, squeezing your hand. "Yvonne and you were so careful to prepare everything. I was hoping it'd go smoothly."

A minor nod is the only response you carry out, as your train of thought practically derails when you breathe in, deeply, and a refreshing scent of crushed pine needles hits you.

Actually, it almost knocks you over. In a heartbeat, you take a good look up, at her hair, realizing that it's back to its regular state, though a little darker and curlier.

You'd been so determined to avoid her eyes that you overlooked more than you'd intended.

"What? What is it?" she asks curiously.

"Zis aroma," you step closer, raising your free hand to capture a stray lock and guide it neatly behind her ear, "zis... your smell."

"I don't..." The brunette becomes visibly disconcerted, and pulls away to complain. "I just took a bath."

To say that your eyes enlarged to popping size wouldn't be too much of an exaggeration, and you quickly shake your head.

"Please, zat is not what I meant. It was a compliment," you speak softly, smiling slightly at the size of her pout.

The brunette moves ahead again, tentatively. The odor is all around her, like an aura, and it extends easily to envelope you, over such an insignificant distance.

"You washed your 'air. I recognize ze scent. I 'ad not felt it today, yet," You inhale once again, until there's no room left in you for more air, savoring the sensation in a state of pure, personal bliss. The weird thing is your normal balance around it, now. This is turning out to be a very unusual day. "Zis is delightful. Something zat fills my senses."

"Well, after that class, I just had to get Potions out of my head," she plays with the double entendre, a coy expression on her face while turning from side to side, swinging the damp curls loosely around her shoulders.

"And so you did," you chuckle at the cute display, using both hands to tuck the strands back in order, once she comes to a stop.

Her stare then settles down, accidentally aimed straight at you, into your eyes, and the words you were prepared to say instantly disperse in your mind. You carefully disguise the uneasiness looping around your throat and take a look at the steps over her left shoulder, avoiding the brunt of that hypnotic brown stare.

Fortunately, Hermione doesn't seem to notice.

"I didn't know you liked this fragrance."

That's the perfect invitation leading you back on track. "I do. I like your shampoo very much. It reminds me of you."

"Thanks. It's one of the reasons I chose it," the Gryffindor remarks, twirling a strand of hair. "Dad loves pine trees. I've had pine-scented bubble baths since I was very, very, very," she rolls her eyes comically, "_very_ little."

Your creative mind instantly provides the image of a mini Hermione splashing in a large bathtub, with soap bubbles up to her hair, while her mother is trying to talk her out of the water and wrap her in a huge, cozy towel. The corners of your mouth slowly arch up, and it's all you can do not to let it turn into a face-splitting grin. That would surely put an itch into her curiosity. One that she would be compelled to scratch.

Shaking those thoughts aside, you look wistfully at her well-behaved curls, grousing with a twinge of jest, "What I would not do for a long, hot bath right now."

"Yeah, Potions does that," she nods in sympathy, and her eyes gingerly explore your features. "At least it doesn't affect you so much. You look great, and I can still pick up your sweet pheromones. No one would guess you just spent hours brewing anything."

Tilting your head, you edge forward and whisper a single "Merci" above her left ear. Your arms reach around her waist to chain her comfortably close to you, but very slowly, giving her all the chance she might need to refuse.

She doesn't. Instead, she tangles her arms over your shoulders.

"But I did brew for 'ours," you continue, "even if no one else can tell, and I missed you for all zat time. I zought we would not meet again tonight."

"I know we never planned this. I just didn't want to wait that long to see you," the brunette declares. "Snape is a monumental reason for me to worry."

"Mm-hmm," is your simple reply, a bit distracted as you are by the nearness and that soothing odor that surrounds you like a blanket. Or, being honest with yourself, _very_ distracted, because that's an outstanding blanket and you've been wanting to lose yourself in it all day long.

Her hair feels so soft, and you peck the strands close by, inhaling one more time before leaning back to set your foreheads together. "And what did you do while we were at ze dungeons?"

"Harry, Ron and I went to the library to take care of some homework," the brunette whispers in a breathy voice.

You bow that last inch to merge your lips tenderly, in a caress that you can sense she wants as much as you do. The fact that she's even allowing it, when anyone can show up in a beat from the gyrating staircases at her back, says exactly that, and better than words.

A couple of fingertips journey leisurely over your jawline, and then her lips break away, twisting into a smile, "Nothing unusual to report, Fleur."

Sighing and with your eyes closed, you steal a last quick kiss from her delicate mouth. It feels smooth, coated with that subtle taste of cherries. A large grin swells your cheeks. The brunette has been consistent with the use of her lip balm, and you have only good things to say about that habit.

When you open your eyes again, Hermione guides her hand gently up to your left cheek, spreading trails of soft tingles on your skin. You can't put into words how glad you are that no one is interrupting this particularly good moment.

"Where are your friends?" you ask to focus your mind, suspecting they won't be far.

"They went to our Common Room. I bet Ron is beating Harry at wizard's chess as we speak," she shrugs.

"Zey let you go?" It sounds quite unlikely. You've been a witness to how they can put up a fight against that, especially at night. "Just like zat?"

Hermione straightens up, adding a little space between you. The hand at your face slips away to search her robes, and when it returns, she offers you a small object. "I told them I wanted to give this back, and they had to agree it was the right thing to do."

In one look you recognize Anca's letter and withdraw your hands to collect it. "Merci. I will keep it wiz my letters." You tuck it neatly inside your bag, with many other rolls of parchment. "And... did you 'ave a good time at ze library?"

"Yeah, I guess. I couldn't believe Ron wanted to go on a Friday night. He's been working harder, to compensate for all he didn't do over the holidays," the brunette replies in a flat tone. "We had the library to ourselves. Nearly no one else showed up."

That remark reminds you of Alix's words at dinner. "Ze girls from Beauxbatons, my friends, were going to be zere, too. Did you see zem?"

"Sure," Hermione confirms, watching as you proceed to shrink your bag and your cap, and then stow them in a pocket of your uniform. "They were a quiet group. Harry was impressed with the piles of books Madam Pince brought to their table. Right before they left, one of them looked upset, like she wasn't feeling very well. I think it was the taller girl, who talks to McGonagall a lot."

"Félicie," you guess, and yet the brunette's expression remains blank. "Hmm... 'Azel eyes, 'air ze color of caramel, and wiz a scar on 'er right 'and?"

"That's the one. I wonder how she keeps a tan through this winter," she remarks in a distracted tone, her voice dropping to a whisper at the end.

You frown, lacking an explanation to offer, "I 'ad never zought of zat."

The Gryffindor shrugs and continues. "When they were gone, I stopped by my room for a bath - as you noticed - and then I came here. It was less than an hour ago."

Which means you'll really be on your own to return through the grounds, and there's no way around it. "I was too late for zem," you murmur.

"They are going to understand, aren't they?" the brunette replies with a hopeful eagerness, probably mistaking your reaction as disappointment at missing an engagement. "You were busy, and it couldn't be helped with Snape."

You nod, keeping the true reason for apprehension to yourself. She takes your hands in a careful grip, and your mood improves remarkably at the sight of one of her beautiful smiles.

"You know," the brunette sounds more jovial and just a bit shy, all of a sudden, "it was okay at the library, but it would've been much better if you were there, too."

You clasp her hands together, one against the other, as if in a gesture for prayer, and cover them with your own, warming that little bit of her, entrusted so freely to you. It's easy to see she's trying to make you feel better. That cute face and the turn in the conversation say it all.

Until you take a closer look at her words, and the opening to tease is too good to pass.

"Hmm, of course. Zat makes total sense," you say playfully, and a smirk starts to curve the right side of your mouth, "because we would 'ave studied a _lot_ together, non?"

She chuckles through her blushing cheeks, and objects, "Hey, you and I went there before. I can work around you."

"Indeed." Your voice modulates to a lower pitch, and you separate her hands, pulling her slightly closer with a soft tug. "On a _Friday night_?"

The brunette tightens her lips, in a brief and insecure frown. "Well... I... Yes, I thought so."

One challenging eyebrow hikes as high as it will go on your forehead, and the smirk curls further. "Really? You wanted us to be zere to do 'omework?"

Hermione gnaws on her lower lip while she concocts an answer, but the more your extended silence drags on, the less confident she becomes. It seems to be a losing battle in her head. You refrain from everything but a light squeeze to her fingers, waiting patiently.

At last, her face warms up into a darker pink, and she casts her stare down.

"Okay, fine," the brunette admits in a whisper, capitulating. "There'd be some time to study, and then we could hang out... for a bit. This is the weekend, right? Our first weekend together. We are both doing well in school, and it isn't like we were about to break rules, or anything like that. I mean, the term is just starting, and it should be okay. Wouldn't yo-"

You can't hold the façade any longer.

Crystal laughter tinkles from you, drowning out her digression in a cascade of sounds that echoes all over the Hall. The brunette seems taken aback by the effect, glancing aimlessly in awe at the large vestibule, as if trying to track the ringing waves, bouncing from wall to wall.

The fact she'd envisioned those moments together fills you with a joy that lingers on your stretched lips, and you watch her wide-eyed and innocent expression, a precious image to store within your memory files.

"Of course I would want all of zat, ze studying, ze 'anging out, being zere wiz you," you remark, and her attention homes in on you as you speak. "For as long as we could."

Something seems to change, then. Her hands squirm loose and her curious eyes slip away again, now to check the watch at her right wrist. There's no liking the lines of concern that start to tense her forehead, and you finally realize what you'd just said.

Time is a limit that can't be tricked. Any and all time you get to spend together lasts for as long as allowed, not for as long as you like.

You let her hands go to follow her example, and the numbers on the dial don't make you particularly ecstatic.

Where has the time gone?

"We... should leave, non?" you start the unpleasant topic, and your expression just won't adjust into a happy ensemble.

"Maybe," she replies with reluctance, glancing at the large windows that clearly show it's pitch black outside. The brunette nods slowly, absentmindedly, and her eyes start to glaze, "Yeah, maybe we should..."

"Come on." You add a bit of enthusiasm to your voice, even if you don't really feel it. "We can be zere wiz some time to spare."

This once she doesn't answer, betraying how distant her thoughts are. You wish you could get a glimpse at what's going on inside her head, particularly since staying here any longer is a luxury she can't afford.

After a minute is gone and she hasn't even blinked, you start to frown. "'Ermione?"

The brunette shakes her head quickly, looking startled, "Sorry, what?"

"As I was saying," you raise an eyebrow at her, going with a light-hearted approach, "if we go now, we will 'ave some time left until you need to be inside your room."

There's a twitch in her jaw, and you have the impression she's struggling with something to tell you. A question is finding its way through your lips when a small smile and profuse nodding make you reconsider.

"Then," the brunette turns sideways on the stairs, sets her left foot up one step, and stretches a hand at you, "what are we waiting for?"

You smile back pleasantly, wider than she did, wrap your hand around her fingers, and start on the stairs.

Your stare wanders up as you go, taking in the confusing and ever-changing mesh of staircases, although your attention never strays too far or too long from the girl at your side. Her hand feels small and cold even now, and soon she's squeezing tight, absorbing the heat from your skin. It's the first time you climb the Grand Staircase like this, hand in hand.

An occasional high-pitched laugh streams down from the upper levels, probably from other students, and there's also chatting and singing coming from the portraits all around the tower. The dominant sounds, nonetheless, are the creaks and scrapes from the stairways, which somehow are louder now than they appeared to be during the day. If the grating noise keeps up, you'll soon be taking a souvenir headache back to the carriage.

Hermione ascends silently, her stare locked on the steps, barely noticing anything else from the surroundings, and you can't imagine the reason why she's squashing her bottom lip once more. To add to your surprise, as soon as you reach the fourth-floor landing, the brunette takes a sharp left into the long corridor, and abandons the stairs.

You frown when your hand falls empty at your side. "Where are you going, 'Ermione? Up ze stairs is ze shortest way to Gryffindor Tower, non?"

She whirls to face you, and her gaze shifts from a quick flit over your features to a long survey of the swiveling structures, then a blink at you, and another lasting stare at the staircases, as if she was carefully making a choice, weighing her options. The expression on her face does nothing to ease your mind. You'd recognize it as Hermione-style anxiety anywhere.

"I was thinking... it might be best if I go with you first. To the Beauxbatons carriage, I mean," she says in a casual tone. The brunette gestures towards the corridor, "Through here, we can head for the Hospital Wing, reach the Clock Tower, and then use the exit to the grounds. It won't take us long."

For a moment you are dumbstruck, unable to take in her words or find any of your own to argue. Hermione is watching you sharply now, not a single ounce of distraction left in her. That makes you frown.

"Please tell me you are not serious. Your Common Room is right zere," you emphasize the statement by pointing up the tower. "A few more flights of stairs and we would be facing ze Fat Lady."

"But I _am_ serious," she returns, her tone exposing an edgy conviction. "There's no one else to go with you. I want to keep you company."

You shake your head and attempt to withhold some of your discontent for her sake, "You 'ave been late to your room several times zis week, and all of zem were because of me. If we keep zings going like zis, one night you might be in real trouble."

"My top concern is not the time," she counters in a low voice, and her expression becomes strained. "Your plan is to take me to my Common Room, and then cross the grounds alone. That isn't fair. After yesterday, I'm not even sure it's safe."

And there it is, out in the open, the reason for her weird behavior.

You hadn't meant to broach this with Hermione. You never imagined she would worry about it. Most of all, you wouldn't dream she could contemplate such a suggestion. Whatever danger is lurking near the edge of the forest, you can't take any chances the brunette might end up dealing with that. It's up to you to persuade her to give up.

You take in a very deep breath, both to calm and prepare yourself. "Zere is nothing going on at ze grounds, as far as we know. Only in ze woods. Ze Veela would 'ave warned us if zere was," you contest quietly, with an impassive face.

The Gryffindor squares her jaw, frowning. "Do you really believe I'll fall for that?"

All you want is to throw your hands up in frustration, but it'll have to wait. Something tells you to not underestimate her determination. Even if you can't tap into her emotional ups and downs as you did in the afternoon, the ice in her voice and the flames in her eyes are frank indications of a storm raging inside the girl. You remember how much she can bottle up under a placid exterior. And she isn't even entirely _placid_ right now.

"What I said is true," you reply in your defense, mustering all the calm that you can. It is the truth, after all, according to the little you know, even if you fear it isn't entirely correct. You're caught between avoiding a major disagreement and the urge to keep the brunette out of harm's way. "I do not agree zat you take risks wiz your curfew again, as much as I appreciate your company and your consideration. Ze right choice would be to go wiz my friends. Since zat is not possible, I can do it alone zis time."

Hermione looks away, rocking her head from side to side, "You said it yourself, if the Veela were worried, so were you. Now I'm worried, too. Something about this feels wrong. Just," her eyes trail up, wandering over your face, and her voice takes on a slightly softer tone, "please, try to see things from my point of view... If it was the other way around, would you stay in the castle and let me go out there?"

'No. Not in a million years.' The reply swirls loosely in the recesses of your mind as you watch her. As you can't stop looking at her, and your brain works furiously to find the best way to tackle the dilemma.

Your complete attention is captivated by her. Each flicker in her features lures your stare, each one registers in your mind. The more you notice, the more you feel for her, the more you want from her, the more your perception clings to her. You close your eyes when a subtle stream of emotions invades you, all foreign, _her_ emotions, bare and raw, resonating deep in your chest, hitting you hard on a soft spot you didn't think she could reach.

Your resolve starts to crack.

Everything you can sense in her compounds into genuine concern. A genuine concern for you, exactly as you would have for her, if the roles were reversed. You saw it in her words and in her attitude earlier. Now, it's painted in textures and lines across her face, pelting a path through to your core.

Your eyes open again and she's still looking at you, unrelenting, anxious, eagerly trying to anticipate your reaction.

The full contents of your lungs are emptied through a heavy sigh. You shake your head slowly, numerous, countless times, restoring order inside yourself, putting your brain back in charge.

You can't fully agree to her request, but maybe there is a solution for this, a way that might satisfy her, and still be right by you.

"I am not going to change your mind, am I?" you ask gently.

"No. Not tonight, not on this," she says with determination. "I'm not out for an argument. I only want you to be okay."

"I know," you start over, toning down the dissension in your voice. If you're going to bridge the gap, then she needs some insight into your side, too. This has to cut both ways in order to work. "Zere is a good reason for me not to agree zat you go all ze way to ze carriage. Zat would put me in ze same position you do not want to be right now. When we reached my room, I would stay zere, worrying about you, knowing zat you were returning alone back to ze castle. And zat would not be fair, either."

Hermione takes it out on her lower lip, as she mulls over that. From her torn expression, the message got through to her.

The groundwork's been laid. Time to talk terms.

"We can walk together until ze wooden bridge, and from zere we go our separate ways. I will 'ave ze grounds ahead of me, and you can return zrough ze castle," you suggest. "Zat is more reasonable, non?"

"It's a little better." There's resistance in her voice. She probably wants far more.

Your expression hardens somewhat, sending the message you're serious about that limit. "Not enough?"

"I'd rather stay with you for a bit longer," the brunette replies, now vacillating as she tries to read your face, "maybe up to the Stone Circle. We can say farewell there, where I'll see you hiking to the carriage. A happy medium. Well, sort of. What do you think?"

You nod, after considering it. "Okay, zat could work out well," you finally agree. This assures she'll be safe, very close to the castle. You add an extra dose of reassurance, "And I still zink ze odds are against any surprises."

"I hope so. I really hope so," the brunette says, retracing her steps towards you. "It's just that... Don't go around being the heroine. I have a first-hand experience with Harry, already. Danger can find him in the most absurd ways. But not you, too. I don't want to see you injured."

"I understand," you say, pulling her into your arms and holding on tight to make a point, "and I am not dismissing ze risks. You do not need to worry so."

"Better safe than sorry," she replies and leans back, placing her hands on your arms, each one slightly above an elbow. Her eyes trace the collar of your blouse with such dedication that either she's found something fascinating there or she's avoiding your face with a passion. Her voice becomes a feeble whisper, "I bet you think I'm overdoing it, don't you?"

"A bit." You chuckle softly, relieved to realize she's breaking free from the rocky emotional ride, at last. Crisis averted, apparently. "You looked so nervous. It seemed you were ready for a big fight."

"Mm-hmmm... I feared that. I thought you wouldn't agree with me," she states with a fleeting glance at your features, before she looks at your right shoulder and pulls a few loose, long strands of platinum blonde hair from your blazer.

You stay extremely still, watching her release them and search for more on the other shoulder. The one thing keeping you calm is her utter lack of understanding or concern for what she's doing.

"And you were right, of course. I did not agree," you say slowly, to underscore the

words.

"I meant _at all_," the brunette insists, seeking your eyes. "You could've refused to accept anything from the start-"

"I did refuse, right when you said you wanted to go wiz me," you interrupt her, rubbing your eyes as an excuse to miss her stare.

"Okay, now I give up." She looks straight at you when your hands return to her waistline. The brunette crosses her arms in the tight space, while juggling a frown and a smile. "Remind me, why didn't we end up in a fight?"

"Because we are two very smart people," you say simply, adding a small smile, too. "Smart enough to realize zere are better ways to get along."

"Good answer. I like that," Hermione nods, reaching up to catch your hands and squeeze them. "But it wasn't all about being smart, was it?" Her next words are a bit surprising. "There's more... More to this. Right?"

You drink in her calm, wide, hopeful brown eyes, and understanding comes to you right away. A long answer is probably what she wants to hear. "Oui. We both 'eld a lot back. We made an effort to zink before speaking, even wiz our difference in opinions. You and I kept an open mind, and at ze end we both made concessions. Zat took more zan intelligence. Ze _uzzer_ reason why we did not fight is zat we care about each uzzer. We care enough to want to choose our words, and try not to 'urt feelings in ze way."

It's hard to conceive anyone could ever outshine her smile. Right now, you're watching it light up the entire corridor, end to end. A fuzzy happiness revolves through you, mixed in with just a bit of pride at being the cause of that.

You graze her right cheek lightly, tracing its contour, and finish in a slow whisper, "I care about you very much."

"So do I, Fleur. That's why I couldn't go quietly to my room. What if anything happened to you?" She shakes her head, a renewed spread of anxiety covering her mood.

"I will not let my guard down." Your voice is steady and sure, and it has the desired effect to take away the concern from the brunette. "And..." you lower your fingers to her hand again, and then you raise an eyebrow, allowing a small smile to make an appearance, "perhaps zis would be an appropriate moment to remind you zat I carry a wand at all times?"

"Yeah, you're right," she concedes, allowing herself a marginally playful timbre that is quite welcome. "And you _are_ kind of good with it, too."

"Kind of?" There's mock outrage all over your face. "'Ow inaccurate."

The brunette tilts her head, getting ready to tease some more, when she catches sight of your smile slowly turning into a broad, mischievous grin. "Oh, you think so, do you?"

She took the bait. This is going to be fun.

The grin quickly slants into a smirk, "Of course. Zat was a terrible contradiction. A minute ago, you were calling me a 'eroine. And 'kind of good' cannot do justice to such a title."

She looks confused, and then tries to rectify your conclusion, "But that is not what I said. I asked you _not_ to be a heroine."

"True, but did you notice ze way you said it?" you ask.

Now she frowns, speechless, and her eyes begin to narrow in suspicion.

"It was so... moving and meaningful, a clear statement zat you zought I could be one, zat I 'ave what it takes. It is grand to realize zat you regard me so 'ighly. A true 'eroine must be admirable, a gifted witch, wiz great magic," you complete with a slightly pompous air and a wink. "Non?"

The failure to find a proper comeback is evidence that she never saw it coming. She's probably unable to believe her ears. You pretend not to notice her stalled breathing, or the subtle owl-eyed expression, and slowly lean close to her left ear.

"I am absolutely kidding, ma belle," you whisper. Releasing her completely, it's time to wave a hand at the empty corridor, "We were supposed to be going. Ze 'our is ticking."

You kiss her forehead with a loud smack and pace lazily backwards, still looking at her, frozen solid on her spot, gawking at the empty space where you no longer are. At last, she gains control of her features and scuttles to reach you, scowling as your chuckles ring free, stretching on the long walkway.

"Hey, don't do that. Stop laughing," she complains, snapping back in character. "You were up against a dragon and it didn't go to your head like this. I wasn't aware it'd take one word for you to climb on a pedestal and start thinking so much of yourself."

"Non, stop right zere. Zat is unjust. Despite what some people zink, or even say of me, nothing goes to my 'ead. I am very realistic about who I am," you argue as seriously as you can, though not hiding too well the smile dancing loosely about your face, or the added swagger to your step. "_You_ were ze one zat provided ze pedestal. I zink your version of who I am is a lot more-"

"Don't," she interrupts the elaborate on-going gesture of your hands with a hasty squeal and a dusky blush, and then adds in a darker tone, "don't you dare finish that sentence."

You burst in rich laughter yet again, shaking shoulders, swaying ponytail and all.

"No, no, no, no. You won't laugh your way out of this," Hermione tries to keep her poise, although you see her lips trembling at the corners. "I mean it, or... or..." she glances around, helplessly, putting her mighty brain to use, before snapping her fingers together. "Oh, I know. Or I _will_ go to my dorm right now."

"Non, please," you reply, covering your mouth while trying to curb the last giggles. "Do not do zat. I was really kidding all along, and zis is ze last you will 'ear from me on zat. Consider zis a promise."

"So you do want me to go with you," she says, smearing smugness all around.

"Of course I do," you nod, smiling, granting her the satisfaction. "I wish you are not late again, but our accord is just. I very much want your company to ze grounds now."

She chuckles, falling in step with you, as you tread through the corridor. You feel her occasional glances, and she finally shakes her head a few times. "I have to say, you're great at making me smile, but your sense of humor can be weird some times."

"At least you zink I 'ave a sense of 'umor," you go for optimism, wondering if the brunette noticed you've fallen into easy conversation again. "It is a good zing, non?"

"I guess. Depends on the type of humor, though," she teases, smiling still.

"Was zat really so bad?" you can't help asking, switching to a more neutral countenance. "We needed a round of laughs."

"It was… entertaining. And, yeah, a bit awful, too," she replies, chuckling. "You're in a good mood."

"Zis 'as been an odd day." You search her face carefully, or at least what you can see of her profile, and then choose an appreciative tone, "In my... 'umble opinion, you are looking a lot better now zan when we arrived on zis floor."

Her head moves in a strange way, apparently indecisive between a shake and a nod. "Okay, that might be true. I'm feeling better, too." She sneaks a furtive glance at you and nods, "So you knew what you were doing with the weird and the awful, then?"

You take a deep breath and swing your right arm in a wide arch ahead, for show, "Zat is who I am, always aiming 'igh-"

"Not again," the brunette groans, slapping a hand over her face, and sliding it down slowly. "No more pedestals for the night, or I'll have to knock them off your feet."

"Alright, alright," you reply, sheepishly. She doesn't miss your outstretched grin. "No more tonight. Only tomorrow."

The brunette tries to glare at you while chuckling, and you laugh harder at her expression.

It's short-lived, though. You both fall silent and look ahead at the sound of approaching noises.

A small group of young students appears at the end of the corridor, walking towards the Grand Staircase. One of them is telling the others an amusing interpretation of a fire-omen, probably from a Divination class. You recognize Ravenclaw and Gryffindor uniforms.

Some shy glances are spared your way in a polite greeting. Hermione gets more attention, though. From the exchanged nods, they are clearly acquainted with the brunette.

"Watch it, Hermione. Mrs. Norris is stalking by Madam Pomfrey's office," says a short boy with a friendly face and light brown hair. He's one of the stragglers, hurrying to catch up to the others. "I'll see you later at the Common Room."

The girl waves at him and replies a bit louder. "Thanks, Colin. I'll keep my eyes open, just in case. Good night."

You glance over your shoulder as the animated chatter restarts, and another funny story earns its giggles and chortles. "Zird-years?"

Hermione nods, "Most of them, and a couple of second-years, too. I only know the Gryffindors well."

"Zey must 'ave 'ad a good time in class," you remark.

"Sure, Divination can be amusing, or it has the potential to be, if you don't take it too seriously," she says with a reticent expression, checking a tapestry hanging on a far wall. "I quit last year."

"Hmm?" Your face rumples in surprise.

"You heard right. One day I up and left the classroom, to never return. That's pretty much what happened. Can't say I miss it. I'm cut out for logic and reason. Divination just isn't for me," the brunette explains, shrugging. "Professor Trelawney agreed I didn't have the Inner Eye."

You nod, thoughtfully, "'Ardly anyone does, non? Ze gift is very rare."

"Yes, I've read the statistics; all the data I could find, actually. It's extremely rare..." Hermione pauses, curiously glancing your way. "Did you ever take Divination?"

"I did, until my OWLs. Even zough zere is no Seer blood in my family, sometimes it 'appens unexpectedly, and ze Veela believe in late bloomers. As soon as ze exams were over, zough, I gave it up, too," you share.

The brunette takes out her wand to relight a burnt out torch as you go, keeping an eye on it until the flames are restored.

"So..." she starts quietly, and then looks at you with a quirky smile, "I heard you had a sword fight today."

"Where did you 'ear zat?" you ask, glancing curiously at her.

"Over dinner." Her eyes sparkle, noticing your fostered interest. "Ron's brothers were telling everyone that this is a great year to be a senior, with the fun you're having in classes. They overheard the Gryffindor seniors describing some of the moves from your battle."

"It was a practical demonstration in Transfiguration class," you explain quietly. "Yvonne and I went first, so we could leave for ze dungeons and prepare our zings. We only stayed for our presentation."

"And? Go on, tell me about it," she encourages with little patience and an excited expression. "McGonagall once caught Harry and Ron in a sword fight during class, with fake wands. I suspect it isn't the same you did."

The image of the boys playing around has you smiling and shaking your head, "It was not a real sword fight, and we did not use fake wands, either. Zat was a sword _dance_, by a pair of animated suits of armor."

"That must've been nice to watch. Fred and George said it was 'wicked'," the brunette states, sounding impressed. She glances at you, "Wasn't so hard to share, was it?"

"Not 'ard, but perhaps boring," you offer, "for a Friday night, non?"

"No, you can't bore me when this is totally new for me. Besides, it involves you," she protests. "There's a greater chance I'll be boring you with fourth-year stuff."

"Zat is not true," you counter. "I like to know ze zings you do. I remember 'ow it was in Beauxbatons, and ze professors at 'Ogwarts 'ave original ways to teach zeir classes."

You become silent as you climb a small set of stairs into Hospital Tower, followed by a spiral staircase. The doors to the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey's office are closed, and you turn towards the corridor leading to the Clock Tower.

Hermione looks all around, searching carefully, and whispers, "No sign of Mrs. Norris, so far. Do you see that cat?"

"Not 'ere," you answer, checking your side of the corridor. "'Ow were your classes in ze morning? 'Istory of Magic and Charms, non?"

"Mm-hmm," she nods, watching every corner suspiciously. "Professor Flitwick started the theory on Banishing Charms this week. Last year we had Summoning Charms."

"'Arry used zat spell in ze first task of ze Tournament," you mention, recalling how his broomstick had been the key to outsmart his dragon. "'E did very well."

"He did, didn't he?" the brunette says in an overflow of pride. "And we're studying Goblin Rebellions with Professor Binns."

"I do not know zat professor, ze ghost. Someone told me 'is classes are not very exciting," you remark uncertainly, "but it is useful knowledge to understand goblins and zeir claims."

The Gryffindor purses her lips, probably measuring her words, "I'm lucky to really like History. His classes are not the most popular."

The Hospital Wing is left behind as you step into the Clock Tower. Both of you take a little time to admire the immense turret mechanism, the rhythmic ticking, the pendulum, and also to check the hour.

"We were fast," you say in good spirits, and then spin around to search beyond Hermione, where very soft scraping sounds are caught by your eardrums.

Mrs. Norris had been scratching one of the nearby balusters and just stopped to look at you. Actually, more like stopped to glare at you. And you didn't even know that a cat could do that.

"We have to go. It's almost eight o'clock." Hermione takes your hand, hurrying through the stairs down the tower, and only speaking again when you're near the last steps. "Now that she's seen us, Filch can show up really soon."

You plough on, to the courtyard, worried that the man might appear out of nowhere to give you the scare of a lifetime, listening for his heavy footsteps. Fortunately, they never make it. The only sound in range is the expected soft burble ahead, from the center of the square. Hermione proceeds cautiously, too.

"I think we're really alone now," she observes, lowering her voice.

The moment you step outside, in the open, you're both startled to a stop by the glimmer of your skin. You look up at once, and, surely enough, the moon is glowing on the dark background, among blurry clouds changing shape. It's the waning moon, little by little making its way down to a sliver. A few more nights and it'll be a whole week of new moon. A week where your skin is to look like anyone else's, day and night.

Hermione lifts your clasped hands and smiles at the sight of your shiny attribute. She stays like that, distracted and studying your skin, until you slowly resume walking. This time you're the one pulling her along, aiming for more distance from the castle. The central fountain deserves no more than a single, passing glance, and you only allow another pause to turn around after you reach the covered bridge.

Apparently, the cat didn't follow, and the caretaker might not have been warned. Perhaps the claw-sharpening session was too good to cut short for two students who were wandering about, even if they were pushing the limits of curfew. Or maybe Mrs. Norris just wasn't very stirred by either of you.

It's for the best. Hermione won't need that extra complication when she returns to her room.

A quick nod and you move again, now through the bridge, looking down at the long wooden planks that stand between your feet and the abyss below. Scarce lanterns shed weak lighting in spots throughout the convoluted construction. In the relative darkness, Hermione's features have a softer, almost surreal, look. You wonder if it can also take away some of the intensity of her eyes, perhaps enough to halt the effects you've been experiencing under that magnetic gaze.

She noticed you were staring, and you take it upon yourself to break the silence, "Zere is something zat I zink will interest you. Ze professor was correcting essays when Yvonne and I finished our potion, and you just received top marks. 'E seemed impressed. It was ze widest roll of parchment on 'is desk."

"That homework took a lot of research," she replies, smiling. "Thanks."

The moonlight can't find your skin anymore, and the brunette sets your hands down, to fall in a natural back and forth swing between you. "Did Snape return your book?"

A sharp intake of breath, and then a set of eyebrows scatter up. "I forgot about zat." The voice is small as you realize your mistake. There were plenty of other things on your mind, yes, but this one was a priority.

She frowns, pointing at the castle, "Do you want to go back and get it?"

"It is late, and I would not go to ze dungeons one more time," you reply, shaking your head. "Ze book will 'ave to wait."

A blast of wind, cold and cutting, jumbles branches through the forest and speeds up at the bridge. Hermione's cloak whips and flails about, at the mercy of the gust. Her hair doesn't do much better. There's wood creaking all around as the structure sways a little, enough to make you wonder if it's threatening to splinter, but the wind fades as fast as it came, and the truss underneath doesn't protest for long.

"Speaking of Potions..." She walks at a slower pace to pull her clothing in order, and you help with her hair, making no attempt to return to a faster stride. "You were going to tell me why you left the class like that."

She couldn't have chosen a better topic to have you ill at ease on the spot. The brunette notices your sudden stiffness and halts, dragging you to do the same. Now she's turned towards you, in wait of an answer. You stay stubbornly as you are, facing ahead, ready to keep on walking. Deep down you know it serves only to spur her curiosity.

You try the less descriptive, basic approach, "Ze reason was ze blonde boy sitting in front of you. 'E was bothering your friends, and 'e bothered me, too."

"Mm-hmmm..." Frowning, Hermione cuts to the chase in a firmer voice, "I saw when Yvonne went to restrain you. Harry was doing the same to Ron at my table."

Of course, she had to have seen _that_ brilliant moment in its full extent.

You sigh. "I did not intend to do anything zat would justify zat. It was not a conscious decision."

"Please," the brunette requests, "_details_."

"Do you really 'ave to ask zat of me?" You glance at her, but then your eyes race away just as fast, to check the shabby woodwork around. "_To_ me?"

"Yes." Judging from her pressing tone, there's no escaping this. "Ron won't speak about it, and Harry pretends to go deaf at my questions."

That leaves you to fill her in, apparently. You take a small step forward, trying to get her to walk again, "I overheard a senseless zing from 'im, and zen Yvonne stopped me before I could damage 'is potion. Zat was it."

"Let's get through this before we go anywhere else," the Gryffindor remarks and stands in front of you at once, blocking your way. She earnestly takes hold of your other hand, staring up into your eyes. "You are usually so calm, so unaffected... What did Malfoy say?"

Reason and feelings wage a war inside you. How can you share that with her? How can you keep it from her? You gaze down, to the curly tips of her locks, over one shoulder and the other, skipping the brown eyes in between.

"You have to tell me what happened," the brunette adds softly. "You said you would."

"Oui, I did," you reply with a grimace, but then never go on, refusing to produce the words.

Hermione squeezes your fingers, encouraging you to speak.

"Ze Malfoy boy... 'e said..." It takes a thick swallow for you to try again, "'E called... you-"

"A Mudblood," she whispers, finishing for you.

Pure anger ignites a path straight to your hands, and her fingers twitch where they are in contact with you, atop that outflow of magic. You berate yourself for forgetting she can feel it, and rub her skin in an apologetic, soothing way. The moment you relax again, the currents slowly simmer down.

"I thought he had insulted _you_," she says, looking at your hands, "like he was doing to Hagrid."

You shake your head. "Filthy Mudblood was ze full statement 'e used." The small, hoarse voice forcing a way through your lips is nearly unrecognizable. This is much worse than when you told Yvonne. "And zen I lost it. I could not contain my outrage."

"You _lost_ it?" the brunette questions, repeating vaguely.

You can't bring yourself to look at her, so you lodge your stare as far away as you can now, beyond her, beyond this bridge, to scan the farther landscape, and focus on the whispery sounds of a light breeze, until your voice is ready for use without breaking. "I do not remember much of anything, except being very angry and... not myself. Yvonne said I seemed to be in a trance. One of ze bezoars I showed you was in my 'and, and I tried to stand up to use it on 'is cauldron, but she intervened. And zen I was back to normal."

It's imprecise and superficial, but it's also all you can say. The Gryffindor goes silent for a long length of time. Long enough that you can't stand it, and finally have to risk a glance back.

Her thoughtful expression stamps a frown on your face. "I 'ope zis will not give you ze wrong impression. Despite what you saw, I do not lose my temper easily. I feel strange for reacting in a way I never 'ad, and ze stranger part is zat it was because of a younger student, a student in your year. Normally I would ignore someone provoking me, or only talk back and reason, at ze most," you say defensively.

She nods. "I know."

"You should reali-" More arguments were lined up in your brain to contend your case, when what she said clicks in place. Your lips stop, stunned, and you blink at her. "You... What did you say?"

"I believe you. I believe those things you said. Malfoy's just too good at getting under anyone's skin, an expert, really," Hermione says stoutly. "He's only gotten worse since Rita Skeeter's article."

"You believe me just like zat?" Your eyebrows show her how much of a surprise that is. She's accepted it too well, too quickly.

"Mm-hmm," she hums.

"In all 'onesty, I do not understand zis from you," you grouse, shaking your head. "I know zat ze boy is not your favorite person, but it does not exempt me from criticism. I should 'ave been ze responsible one, ze one setting an example. You seem to be going easy on me, and taking everything out on zat boy, but I am not wizout fault. Zis was not all on 'im."

She steps a little closer, moving ahead that last bit, and tilts her head on your right shoulder, still holding your hands. "It's more complicated than that. If you were in a trance, then it wasn't _you_ doing anything. It wasn't on purpose. I don't see your fault as plainly as you do, and nothing happened, anyway. Yvonne had great timing to stop you."

"Zis could 'ave taken place wizout 'er zere," you counter. "Zen what?

"Then his potion would have to suffer the wrath," the brunette pauses to stress that word, "he brought out of you."

"You sound so sure." You move your linked hands around her, in a loose embrace, and take in another whiff of her scent, very slowly. It's less pronounced, now that the strands are nearly dry. "Yvonne witnessed the full scene, and she 'ad her share of doubts."

"I think I've been watching you longer than Yvonne, and closer, too," she argues, and you like the challenging note in her voice. It comes across as a bit... possessive. "You've had hordes of people harassing you, and ogling you, following your every move. That patience of yours has been tested for months, and I'm sure at least one of them made your blood boil." Her face is concealed from you, but you can hear the slight grasp at humor, " You never even raised your voice. If you didn't hex anyone until now, it just isn't in you."

"Zat is quite a vote of confidence."

The unexpected leap of faith in your character feels ironic, really. How anticlimactic would it be to point out she isn't entirely correct? You _did_ lose all traces of patience with one Roger Davies, after all, and there was that other _thing_ yesterday, when you kind of set Peeves on Malfoy's tail. Although, technically speaking, no hexes were used on either occasion.

"I think I have it right," she shrugs, slowly changing her stance. The brunette lets go of your hands to bring her arms the other way, towards and behind you, over your waist. "Look, I know what you're doing, and you won't hear an accusation from me. You can say I'm biased, if you want. Maybe that's what I am - biased against him, or biased in your favor, however you choose to see this. Maybe both. The truth is, we don't have all the facts. That Slytherin is trouble on two legs, and something was going on with you today. We have to know more before you're so willing to take blame."

"It does not change ze fact zat I should not 'ave lost my temper," you mumble, downhearted, pressing a cheek against her temple.

Hermione sighs, stirring a little to release one hand. She lifts it to your jaw, tracing the arced outline with slightly cold fingers.

"That, I can't change, you're right," the brunette admits, and she seems significantly less excited. She shifts back to look at you, her eyes moving quickly to analyze your features. "But if you're beating yourself up over that, it's time I tell you another episode related to Malfoy. I think it might help, for the sake of perspective."

Her hand advances, up and over your right cheek. Your eyelids shut off the world as you indulge in the soft caress, smiling just a little, and then a cool, hasty kiss marks your mouth with the shape of her lips. You barely start to kiss her back, and it's over.

She's looking at you when you open your eyes again, and then you nod in approval, doubting your ability to speak.

"There's a lot you don't know, things that happened at Hogwarts. We haven't had much time to talk, yet, since we're..." the brunette hesitates, striving for words as she moves a forefinger, pointing back and forth between herself and you, "well, you know..."

Silence goes on, and you wait with bated breath for her to end the phrase.

"_We_," she completes shyly, adding no more.

Your expression goes blank. That's an answer that could really use some work.

But not now. Her mind seems to be going on an entirely different direction. "We will 'ave ze weekend to fix it. What did you want to tell me?"

"It's..." She turns her head to a side, avoiding your eyes. "Malfoy and I never saw eye to eye on a lot of things. I guess too many things."

You can't help but frown, wondering where she's taking this.

"I slapped him around a year ago."

"Oh?" The frown collapses, unable to fit into an expression overtaken by surprise. You repeat the question for confirmation, still getting used to the idea. "_You_?"

Hermione nods, and clings closer to you again, hiding her face on your shoulder. One of your hands stays at her waist, and the other climbs of its own accord to settle over her strands.

"'Ermione," you jump to very unpleasant conclusions, and just barely keep your voice calm, "what did 'e do to you?"

Now you feel the head shake. "It was about Hagrid that time."

"Please, zis is not ze time for you to be sparing of explanations," you protest. "I am curious. You cannot leave it like zis."

"Hagrid's teaching career started in my third year, when the professor for the Care of Magical Creatures class retired," she begins. "On his first lesson, he wanted to make it exciting for us, so we learned about Hippogriffs. Against all of his warnings, Malfoy disrespected one of them. The creature attacked, and that was the end of our class. Hagrid had to rush him to the Hospital Wing."

You splutter a raving "But" that has no effect on the brunette, and she simply goes on, "It was his fault, we all knew that. He pretended the wound was much worse than it was. The school governors almost sacked Hagrid."

"What an attitude," you grumble. "Ze professor is still 'ere, so ze attempt on 'is job must 'ave failed... And now zis Rita Skeeter stuff. Zings 'ave not been good for 'im."

"Yeah, Hagrid's had some rough years. The year before, he was sent to Azkaban on unfounded suspicions. And he was innocent." The sadness in her voice suppresses your will to keep on asking. You didn't know she held him in such high esteem. "Erm, sorry, I went off course. There was more on that story."

You stay quiet, oblivious to all else.

"Malfoy senior made a complaint with the Ministry, and Buckbeak - that's the Hippogriff - was sentenced to execution. Hagrid fought tooth and nail for him, but to no avail. It was terribly frustrating. One day, at the end of another of his classes, Hagrid was in a right state, and Malfoy made fun of him behind his back, pretty much like today. When he called Hagrid 'pathetic', I was so furious... _So_ mad." The brunette speaks through gritted teeth, in a tone ripe with emotions drawn from those memories. "I know how you felt today, because I've been there, and at the hands of Malfoy, too. I lost it that day. He was just standing there, laughing. I got to him faster than either Ron or Harry. And then I slapped him."

Her hands are clenched at your back, wrinkling the blazer in their hold. You both stay very still for very long, and you have a hunch that her mind is going at top speed, just like yours. The only movement to be seen is from your fingertips, circulating tirelessly through her hair, trying to take the edge off her distress.

"I 'ave to ask..." The whisper is as gentle as possible, although it sounds too loud in quiet night. "Are you sure you are telling me everything?"

"Yes, that was all," she says in a tight voice. "I'd never done anything like that to anyone." There's a short pause, and the Gryffindor splays her fingers a bit, as if suddenly aware of what they were doing. "I guess we all have our triggers. He just happened to find mine."

The brunette takes her time to improve her position and recline her head sideways, near your neck. It's probably more comfortable for her, considering how easily she returns to that same spot whenever she hugs you, and soon the tip of her nose is rubbing your neck.

A freezing tip, by the way, colder than her hands or her lips had been. It could be from the anxiety, of course, but you hadn't taken the temperature into account, and perhaps you should. Keeping the hand at her head, you pull out your wand with the other one, and a spell soon spreads a good measure of warmth on both of you.

Her next word is muffled by your clothes, breathed out in a way all but steady. "Disappointed?"

"Non." The tone carried a strict inflexibility, despite how soft your voice was. "Not in you." In a quick whip, the wand is out of sight, and you lace her middle again. "I am still trying to digest what came over me. _You_, zough, I understand."

She retreats from you with a curious gaze, her eyebrows lifting as she speaks, "Now who's going easy on whom?"

"I am not doing zat," you reply mildly, unscrambling the fingers from her hair and joining your hands at her back. "You know zat zese situations cannot be compared."

"Yeah, they are different, even if Malfoy took a part in both. We have to find out more about you, and that trance," she concludes, while you confirm with a curt nod. "In the meantime, I think you should try to ignore him. Whatever he's up to, it can't be good. I don't like the idea that he's playing with your head, and that he's using me to do that to you," the brunette continues, more calmly.

You lean on her, seeking that degree of comfort that never fails to come from any contact with the girl. "All I need is my mind to stay sharp. As long as I do not enter anuzzer strange daze, I promise zat 'e will be less interesting to me zan a bug on ze wall."

"Even when it's a hard one to ignore," she narrows her eyes, staring somewhere over your right shoulder, "like that large beetle flying this way?"

You turn around and see the dark insect on an unsteady trajectory, knocking against the wooden frame in a succession of low taps, but still moving in your direction. Its wings are barely keeping the bulky body in suspension. With unbidden antipathy, you draw out your wand and a quick Stunning Spell smashes right on target, a couple of meters away.

The immobilized beetle clonks down heavily on the round-cornered railing, and then rolls off, down the ravine.

"What kind of promise was that?" The brunette is being quite shrill, still looking at the same spot. Her eyes are wider when they turn to your face. "You're throwing spells left and right now."

"It was an _expression_," you reply patiently, rolling your eyes. "In general, I cannot ignore bugs zat get too close. I prefer to keep zem far away from me." The wrinkle in your nose should make that clear. "My love for animals does not extend unconditionally to insects, particularly ze large ones, such as beetles, and grasshoppers, and, hmm, cockroaches, and..."

"Let me guess... and spiders?" she asks, and you suspect the slight mirth beginning to surface in her voice has deeper roots.

"Of course! Everyone I know zinks zey are disagreeable," you shrug nonchalantly, although your cheeks blush a few degrees warmer. "And 'ere, at 'Ogwarts, it is a lot worse, perhaps because we are stationed so close to ze forest. Ze spiders are ze size of my 'ands, black and wiz zick 'airs sticking out. You should see 'ow it is when we find one in ze carriage. Ze running, and ze yelling, and climbing on zings, and ze spells wiz shaking 'ands... No aim at all... Last time Lucie almost set 'er room on fire, and zen-"

Her hand covers your mouth to stop the rambling. "I think I can imagine." The brunette smiles. "In sum, you're terrified of bugs."

You frown, and hope she can't see your burning face. "I would not call it something as bad as a phobia, exactly. It is more of a... hmm, civilized _repulsion_. I am just really not fond of anything wiz more zan four legs." From the vast grin now dangling in front of your eyes, you realize you're still playing defense, and quickly retrace, back to the starting point, "As I meant to say, I promise zat I will be ignoring ze Malfoy boy. _Not_ as I would a bug on a wall, zen, but as a speck of dust on ze floor. Does it sound better now?"

Hermione nods, and it's painstakingly slow. "Oh, much. Much better."

You scratch your nape and sigh, fully aware that you just sabotaged yourself in the last stretch of the conversation.

"So..."

Hermione says no more, and you tilt your head, watching her expression waver somewhat between peaceful and happy. That's the only indication of where her mind is, and it seems a great place to be. Her pretty smile deserves many repeat stares, and the on-going pause extends, lazily, for too long. It feels like a proper moment to give her a nudge.

You playfully oblige, rocking her a bit to one side, and then the other. "So?"

She chuckles until the swaying has stopped, and then you earn a tight hug. "We've done enough talking about Malfoy, haven't we?"

"I agree," you say, nodding insistently enough that you can hear the soft swish of the ponytail at your back, "but it was good to set some facts straight."

"Honestly, we should never let him monopolize our time together like this again," she insists, and the remark is a perfect match to your sentiments on the matter.

"And on a Friday night, too," you quip, smiling.

The brunette shakes her head, "You are not letting that go, are you?"

"Of course not. I am 'appy zat we 'ave a couple of days wiz no classes ahead of us. It means more time for us." You waggle your eyebrows a little. "More time wiz-"

Both of you are startled by a series of loud chimes from the Clock Tower, announcing eight o'clock. There goes Hermione's curfew. If you hadn't been so caught up in each other, you might have followed through with the plan, and the brunette would probably be in the castle now, somewhere close to her Common Room. From her upset look, you have to wonder if she has any regrets.

You wait for the last toll of the bells to speak again, feeling quite hollow all of a sudden. "It is official now, non?"

"Yeah, I'm definitely late," she replies, and her teeth lock onto her bottom lip. "The Stone Circle is right ahead. Come on."

"You should go now, so you are not out much later," you say, tipping your head in the direction of the castle and trying to sound positive about it. "You can make it back quickly, if you 'urry."

"No, I have to see this through," the brunette counters, showing her stubborn nature. And then she mumbles, "I just wish that clock was clanging a different hour. Time seems to fly when we're together."

Her hands start to pull back from you, and she takes a step away, turning around. But you don't let her go, and quickly hold her hands. Those simple words are bouncing inside, reaching into the emptiness, and filling it until it doesn't seem so bleak anymore.

She looks up in surprise. "Fleur?"

A smile is your first answer, small and light, joyful. And then you give voice to the second, that requires words, "Can you guess 'ow much I want to kiss you right now?" You breathe in slowly, deeply, seeking for the slight traces of the brunette in the air. "Can you tell?"

Hermione chuckles, shakes her head and glances away. Her eyes skim back to check if you are joking, and you earn a shy smile when the brunette realizes that it _is_ a serious proposition.

"Oui, I meant it. Zis is a nice spot," you comment, pulling her back to you. The brunette is now enclosed in a snug little circle, all surrounded by you. "We are alone, and more shielded 'ere from ze wind and any-"

"Bugs?" she suggests, teasing with no shame or compassion.

"Hmm... Zose, too," you assent, keeping a smile and almost patting yourself on the back for not blushing again.

"I'll take you on that offer. I'd like that," she whispers, "a lot."

Her hands trail up your sleeves and fold behind your neck. A couple of fingertips curl through the bound strands at your nape, go up to the elastic band that keeps the ponytail tied, and then back down, scraping lightly a lane over that sensitive patch. You roll your neck a little, in response to her strokes, and let out a contented sigh.

There's amusement in her smile, and she brings her face closer. Your stare doesn't leave her, resigned to stumble on the shadows cast over her features. The intricacies of those beautiful brown eyes may not be readily visible, but you can feel, if only distantly, the relentless pull in effect, that invisible force drawing you to her.

The brunette bites her lip, watching you, too, and a playful smile twists both corners, as her teeth clench the center. Your heart rattles in approval at the confidence she's giving off, and she doesn't even seem conscious of that.

You wet your lips slowly, deliberately, and her expression takes a turn towards serious at the sight. Her breath hitches in expectation as you start to approach, and the brunette closes her eyes when you're only a couple of inches away.

A smile blinks on your face and you pause, leaving her an instant to wonder. In a single descending swing, your stare drops from her eyebrows, to her eyelashes, and down the line of her nose. It finally flaps closed after a glance at the underlying goal, and then you advance that final length, and cover her mouth gingerly.

The brunette remains very still, except for a bit of tension in her fingers, while you slightly glide to a side. Softness smoothes over softness, the smell of her lip balm floating between you, until you meet the bend of a corner and go back the same way, and then do it again at the other end, and yet again. It's a wordless invitation that she accepts without haste. Your lips start moving together, and the careful sweeps dissolve into long, gentle kisses.

She tries for a nibble, but you lean away, just out of reach, and shake your head, rubbing her nose with your own. She chuckles and mumbles an "Okay", redoubling the scrapes on your scalp, but otherwise waiting quietly. This is your turn to be in charge.

The tip of your tongue outlines her lower lip, staying longer on the outer spots that fit her teeth, as if you could undo the many stings they sustained during the day. A brief smile confirms that she understands, and you reward her with the tiniest nip.

Lingering on the inner edge, you tease that last limit a couple of times, until her lips come apart and you reach ahead, into her. You meet a warmth so sweet, and the rows of her small teeth, and a touch of pure velvet, now as invested in pampering you as you are in doing it to her. The taste you share becomes the same, her flavor and your flavor made into one, rousing, heady, fogging your mind.

Her fingers coil on your tresses, and short nails dig into your skin. Your arms clench further, to shrink the space dividing you, the action caught between the selfless desire to protect her from the world, and the selfish craving to have her more to yourself.

That feeling of anticipation grips you again, and everything in this night is eclipsed by her weak moan, more a delicate vibration than a sound, more felt than heard. It goes straight into you, and you catch that breath - her breath - and it dives into your lungs, spreads down your veins, and shocks all the magic in you into a low thrum.

Your charms become as unstable as the adrenaline fueling your system. Or your hormones, whatever this is. Emotions filter through, from her, from you, in a hazy and disordered succession that you don't have the ability or attention span to track at the moment.

The more lost in the kiss, the more certain you are that something truly exceptional is about to happen.

Should be right about... _now_...

...

Nothing.

You groan, but the brunette matches that with another moan, so it probably didn't seem too weird to her.

Any moment now. It's at the edge of your perception...

You frown.

Neither of you has all night, so it should be soon, or you might end up infuriated if that lightheadedness shows up and forces you to a halt. Again.

She bites your upper lip and now you _really _moan. That felt amazing. And then there's a slight nudge on your shoulders, and you realize she is withdrawing. You block the frustrated growl in your throat, pull back slowly, then press a last kiss on her swollen lips, and let her break apart.

The brunette releases a slow sigh that bathes your face in cherry-redolent bliss, but you're too caught up in that pull to give her up just yet. Before she has a chance to understand a thing, you are moving forward again, dotting a way over one cheek and down that long neck.

Her skin undulates beneath your mouth, fast waves in a strong throbbing, and even stronger as her pulse accelerates with the caress. You can faintly hear it, the flow of life, that rhythm, rustling just under the surface. Something delectable is mixed in with the scent of her hair now. Something that you can only detect close to the skin. Something that must be entirely _her_.

You realize all your senses are reacting out of proportion, electrified by the smallest cue coming from the girl, clawing at you, pulling you in, more and more, nearly drowning you in a lushness of sensations.

The dizziness that you had expected finally starts to set in, and as much as you hesitate, it becomes harder to deny that you have to slow down. You pause and retreat slightly, working to control your hard breathing. And call down your magic. And fasten your charms.

Hermione seems to be in a more steadier condition than you are, though not by much, and she shifts in front of you, but your vision is too unfocused to notice her intent.

"It keeps getting better every time," the brunette whispers, and her fingertips move as feathers over your cheekbone.

You nod in absolute agreement.

"They've changed," she prompts, looking at your eyes. "I can't see very well, but the color is too light to have any blue left."

"I know," you reply, as calmly as you are able to voice, in the same tone she used.

The curious brunette doesn't stop. "Is it painful?"

"Non." You offer her a small smile, "Zis is 'armless."

"How do you notice it's happening?" she continues, biting down on her lower lip and setting her hands on your shoulders.

"Ze shift is sharper now, zere are some physical signals. I know when my eyes change, and... uzzer zings, too," you explain, as you trace the lower border of her lip with your thumb, massaging the skin just right to ease it out of the clutches of her perfectly aligned front teeth.

She smiles when you manage to free the plump and darkened lip, following the slow motion of your light stare.

"It 'elps me to sense what you are feeling, too," you add.

"It... does?" she falters, and there's self-consciousness diffusing from her voice, right onto her expression.

"Oui, zough it 'as been complicated to deal wiz zat lately," you whisper pensively, hovering near until two sets of lips graze again, confirming with a quick peck each word you've said.

Your mind keeps going back to that uneasiness, the presentiment that has been haunting you every time you were with her in the afternoon, bringing you to the brink of jittery nerves.

"Your expression is not the same," she says in a subdued voice. "Is anything the matter?"

You shake your head.

She's still doubtful. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Non, of course not," you insist, taking a deep breath. "I was zinking, zat is all."

"You look tense. Go on, you can tell me," the brunette says in earnest.

"Today something 'as been... off." You hesitate, but she nods in encouragement and you purse your lips, digging into your brain for words that could add up into a reasonable explanation. "I longed for you all day when I could not be near you." You send your stare below the level of her eyes as your face is taken by heat. Particularly your cheeks. "And when we were... Non, when we _are_ together," you correct, glancing briefly at her, "I 'ave everything from you, and it is not enough."

"Everything... What?" she asks, in mild confusion. "What isn't enough?"

"Let me try again," you say, and go the long route. "I can see you, 'ear you, talk to you, and show you zat you are very important to me. I 'ave a chance to be close to you, to touch you. Pretty much like now. We are so close, now, zat I can savor zat wonderful scent every time I breathe in."

You do exactly that, once, bending over her locks. She turns her head to make it easier for you, and you have to stop yourself from going for second and third helpings. You're trying to make a point, after all.

"I can also plant a quick kiss on your forehead, or on one of your cheeks," and you pause to demonstrate each possibility, "although I will not deny zat I 'ave preferred to give more attention to your lips."

This one the brunette must have been expecting, and she took it upon herself to lead, smiling all through a long taunt to your mouth.

"And when we share a more intense moment, like just now, I can sense your feelings. I might even be sharing mine wiz you," you end in a whisper with what's left of your breath, unsure if it's happening, or if she had been aware of it. "Do you understand? _Everything_ about you is in my reach."

The brunette nods to indicate she's following, "What about the 'not enough' part?"

You sigh and a troubled look takes over your face. "No matter 'ow much I 'ave had of you before, or 'ow much I 'ave of you now, it is not enough. Zis entire day, I 'ave been aching inside. I still am. Zere is zis... anticipation zat will not leave me, like something crucial is missing, and it could manifest at any time, because it needs to occur."

The girl stays quiet, thinking, trying to unravel your honest and probably bewildering outburst. "We just had a Friday full of classes, and still, we were together so many times. I couldn't ask for more than all that. It was great the way it was. Don't you agree?"

"I know, and I agree, of course," you reply. "Zis is not a complaint. It is strange zat anything should feel out of place when it 'as clearly been a lot for a regular day of school. But I would like to know, zen," your charged voice should reveal your genuine desire for an answer, "why am I feeling like zis, today?"

The brunette raises both eyebrows, "Are you seriously asking me?"

You look past the bridge, to the dark sky above and the jagged rocks below, thinking before you turn to face her again.

"Non, zat was strictly rhetorical." You lick your lips, pausing, and then add, "But if I were to bring it up, it would 'ave to be wiz you. Zis only 'appens around you, concerning you. It would not make sense to ask anyone else."

She tilts her head, watching what she can of your face. It must have left her wondering, for she takes a few steps towards the edge of the deck, bringing you along until you're resting against the wooden siding, under the moonlight. The weak glow of your skin probably was the desired result, and Hermione takes her time to read your expression carefully.

"Does any of zis ring a bell?" you ask in a hopeful tone.

The brunette shakes her head, "I haven't felt anything unusual. Kissing you is, erm..." she blushes softly, and you can see it with the slightly better lighting, "delightful, it always is, but I think that everything I feel is supposed to be. There was no anticipation."

You nod, looking down, "Perhaps it is anuzzer item on my list of weird changes."

"Or, and this is purely hypothetical," she speculates, "maybe we are the ones to blame."

"What do you mean?" A curious frown gathers on your forehead.

After a long sigh, she loops her arms around your neck, stands on tiptoes, and brings herself flush against you, eye-to-eye. "If I asked you to try something, would you?"

In complete surprise, your arms shuffle at her back to accommodate for the smaller distance, and your eyes immediately close up, avoiding the stare blazing you whole, merely inches away.

"Hey, open your eyes," she pleads.

You swallow through a throat as dry as sandpaper, and your eyelids do as she asked, though your eyes aim below the tip of her nose.

And there's the question again. "So... would you?"

"Oui," you whisper, "I would."

"Look at me," she says, lowering her head until she finds your gaze and locks your eyes. "That's it. Now, this is what I want you to do," the brunette breathes slowly, "stop holding back. For this once, let loose. Really let loose."

Your throat shrivels further. Between her words and the stare into the darkened color of those fiery brown eyes, you don't need telling twice. The pull is there and you surge ahead, leaping at the speed of a heartbeat, until you clash together.

You demand as much as she can give. You offer back as much as she can take. There's no teasing, no patience, no slow building for this. Only arms snaking tighter, her curious fingers roaming your nape, a slender waist captured by your hands, soft moans that sound heavenly. Your mouths consume each other as tingles and goose bumps cruise your skin, and the crisp scent of pine needles diffuses all around.

Something rare, or exceptional, could be going on away from here - a reallignment of stars, the announcement of world peace, Peeves carted off to the Slytherin Common Room. And you would miss it entirely to stay where you are, just like this.

You don't care about how late it is, where you are, what's happening to you, how you'll make it to the carriage, or whatever else had been on your mind before. Thoughts and concerns, torments, doubts, questions ... blurred ... drained ... gone.

She's melting into the kiss, you know it, you can feel it, just as much as you are. No holding back, as she asked. Both letting go. And then you sense it again, the gripping anticipation, stronger than it had been before. Unavoidable and irresistible, an unstoppable force about to collide into you, probably about to crush you. And you don't make a single move to escape.

Two hearts thunder in disharmony, perhaps in a race against the other, or maybe chasing a common beat. Your breathing becomes anguished, desperate, a struggle in-between kisses. There's a faint pluck at the back of your head, and suddenly your hair pours loose, down your shoulders. You don't stop. Neither does she. Her hands leave your nape and take interest in the strands, collecting handfuls at a time, greedily, only to release them, and then do it again. You faintly remember there was some reason to be uneasy about that, but you really can't pinpoint what it was.

You realize that your charms seem to be out of order. You have no idea where they start, where they end, their intensity, their focus. You're overtaken with emotions again, hers and yours, without the ability to tell them apart.

Your lips barely touch now, keeping but a soft contact, an acknowledgment of each other's presence. It's no longer about the frenzy of the caress, or the rush, or the excitement. This is about something much larger than her, than you, perhaps than both of you, but still only happening because it's intrinsically related to each of you.

All else pales into abstract. You lose the most common perceptions of space and time, of the ground at your feet. This is dreamy ecstasy, and you don't want to wake up. You feel like floating, free, no obligations or restraints, drifting away together with the one person that matters so, who can scramble your world with a smile and a kiss.

Especially an unforgettable kiss, such as this, where she's touching your lips, but holding your heart.

The brunette trembles against you now, chills running down her spine, and you rub your hands over her back in a soothing way. She starts to loosen her grip, and you react hugging her more.

You frown. Her weight shifts, she grows slack, and her knees give in under her, breaking the kiss. Your arms harden in reflex, tying her securely to your body. Her face slides to one side, limp, and then you notice she is completely still. Not even breathing.

"'Ermione," you call in a voice that shouldn't be so panicky, shaking her a bit.

That startles the brunette into a fit of light coughs, and she squeezes your arms for support. Her forehead finds your collarbone to rest as her short breaths convert into gasps. You reach up to touch her. Her skin is too hot, feverish, and her hands are a bit clammy. Gently, you cup her face, holding her cheek steadily, and try to slide a bit away from her to have a look.

The pulse at her neck is drumming like raindrops on a windowpane. Dark, dilated pupils are directed at you, though you wonder if she's even able to see you right now, with how her eyes blink heavily and seem dull. Her expression is locked in a languid, faint smile, as if her mind was elsewhere.

"'Ermione!" you try again, with more urgency. "'Ow are you feeling?"

"Fine," she says groggily and finally fully opens her eyes, looking at your worried face. Hermione lifts an index finger to your chin like it's an immense effort, "Calm... It's..."

You conjure a small bench close to her, on the most drafty spot you can find nearby, and sit down by her side. Maybe a cooling breeze will be of help. The brunette leans on you, and you wrap an arm at her waist, listening to her breathing.

"Oui?" you ask to keep her talking, while searching for an explanation.

"You... charms..." she mumbles, gulping air, and clinging to you with the little strength she has left. "... minute."

"Zere 'as to be more zan zat. You stopped breathing," you say in an extremely concerned tone.

"No," she chuckles through shallow breaths, and there's a touch of giddiness in her voice. She's speaking slowly, as if she couldn't handle a faster pace. "That's really... what it was. You... stole my breath away."

Your eyebrows jump up and stay there. "I did not mean to do it literally," you reply, not amused as she is.

"I know," the brunette agrees and tries to chuckle again as she squeezes you, although her attempt fails. A weak waft passes through the bridge, jiggling her locks, and she inhales raggedly. "My Fleur... So... beautiful..."

The combined words and the way she's speaking send a red alert screeching through your brain. Your voice is hurried and a little out of pitch, "You do not sound _fine_ at all."

"But I am," she insists, pulling away enough to let you see her as she shakes her head and her eyes start to focus again. "You're looking tortured. Why is that? The anticipation you felt had to have something to do with this. Weren't you expecting... something different?"

"Different, perhaps, but it never included you faint on me like zis," you protest. "You should be able to tell I am worried, non?"

"You know, I always wondered, since before the Yule Ball, how it might be with you. To be with you, I mean. To know you... To kiss you," she says slowly, at a pace she can keep. "There was so much speculation about Veela after you arrived, so many rumors. They had me thinking. And now this... the charms. It's more than different... or unique..."

Her voice fades off, and she seems unable to translate her thoughts into words.

"Please continue," you instigate the brunette. "Do not waste time trying to find ze right words, just tell me. I need to understand."

Hermione nods, "Never imagined anything like that. There was no separation between us, nothing at all. I think I could feel what you were feeling, mixed with what I was feeling, too. That must be how it is for you all the time, isn't it? When we're close, you just... _know_."

"Oui, sometimes, when I am paying attention and ze emotions are clear, or strong. But it 'ad been much weaker before, compared to 'ow it was today. Zere were times when I sensed everything, from far or close, each emotion as it 'appened." The sorrow in your expression should match the amount in your voice, "I cannot stop it completely to give you privacy."

"I don't mind, really," the Gryffindor says with a tiny smile, " only because it's you. It's been going on all day, then?"

"Not really," you frown. "It was on and off during ze day. And zis time was... more intense."

"So," she starts again, waiting until you look at her to continue, "are you going to tell me that something is still missing now?"

Your eyebrows bolt up in surprise. "Non," and the reply is truthful. "I am content, as I 'ave not felt... ever." It's like you had been unaware of a particular hunger going on before, and then you were served a plentiful meal.

"Then that was what you needed. I'm glad," she states with a sigh. You frown, watching her breathlessness slowly come under control, and she explains, grinning widely, "No, don't get me wrong. It was wonderful. It really was. I just don't think I could handle a repetition right now."

"Zat is not very reassuring," you say, touching her forehead, then one of her hands, and looking at her eyes. "Your skin is too 'ot, and your pupils are still dilated. You do not sound as agitated as you were before. Zese are all signs of an intoxicated state."

"I'm on a high, I know. It's from your charms." She chuckles at the shock that you can't keep from your face, and she tucks your hair behind your ears, saying playfully, "So are you. Didn't you notice? You're over the moon, too."

You shake your head at once, "I do not zink so."

Now she laughs, then holds your cheeks and looks into your eyes as you watch her expression. "Just be honest with me. How do you feel right now?"

"I am not-" you stop when she cocks an eyebrow and smirks, already opposing your phrase.

Okay, how do _you_ feel?

Interesting question. You take a minute to consider that, to shut out the world and concentrate on what's going on at the inner side of your skin. Surprisingly, it's time to acknowledge she's right.

You were so preoccupied with her that you hadn't even noticed the effects on yourself.

Startled, you look down at your palms. It's a surprise that all the magic that is almost crackling through can't be seen under the thin barrier of skin. An airy, light clench playing at the walls of your gut is firmly settled there. And if you can be completely honest, you feel... terrific.

Stronger. More capable. Powerful. Like you could tackle that dragon again with nothing but _this_ magic, and still find a way to come out victorious.

A bit of your current awe must have made it to your expression, for the brunette chuckles and whispers playfully, "So it _was_ good for you, too, right? You had me worried, for a moment."

An uncertain smile and you nod.

"See what I mean?" Hermione sets the back of your left hand on her lap, and hovers her right hand above the area of the palm, sensing the magic. "Euphoria."

"Euphoria," you repeat, baffled, unsure if that came out as a question or an affirmation. But then you glance at her, seriously, and all you manage is a hoarse whisper. "From one kiss."

'All this from kissing... _you_,' is the thought looping in your mind.

"That wasn't just _a_ kiss. That was the most wonderful kiss I ever had. And you've kissed me several times," she says shyly, keeping her stare down, on the hand above yours. "I wouldn't change anything about it."

"Oui, I agree," you mumble as you caress her cheek and deliver a peck to her forehead.

She leans on your hand, and you notice how her skin has gone cold, now that she's recovering. "Er, I didn't get what you said."

Another warming spell comes from your wand before you answer, "I said I agree zat ze kiss wa-"

The brunette interrupts, "No, I mean during the kiss."

"I..." You stop and turn to face her, frowning. You observe her in silence, that unwavering determination, how certain she apparently is. Perhaps you heard wrong. "Can you repeat zat?"

"You said something, during the kiss," she prompts, "and I couldn't understand you."

"Hmm... We were kissing, non?" you ask, shaking your head. "'Ow could I speak at ze same time?"

"I heard your voice. I'm sure it was you," she claims, unfazed.

Your head slants towards the left, wearing a dubious expression. "Are you sure you are feeling well?"

There's mild indignation in her voice, "I'm not making this up. I was aware of things." She pauses, frowns, and then shrugs, "Well, some things." Brown orbs lock onto blue ones. "I heard _you_, just not your words. It was when I was more tuned in, when everything felt more intense. I'd never been more connected to anyone," her eyes narrow as she tries to explain, "like we had this... _bond_."

"W-what?" you stutter, as your insides turn to ice. And it keeps on, before you can hold it down, "I-I cannot. No bond."

She frowns and looks at you in confusion, her curiosity just getting ready to spring forth.

"I am more 'uman zan Veela," you add hastily. Had she thought of that? Had she been expecting it? "Zere will be no bonding for me."

Now she seems stumped, her expression giving away an intense thought process, clearly struggling to decipher what you said. "Okay, what are you talking about?"

You don't even know yourself. But at least you can tell now that you are not on the same page.

Overactive charms. Your weird behavior near her. The fast changes. A very unusual kiss. Her reaction. And something that only she heard. All that adds up into... what?

No idea. No answer. Your head is now filled with question marks that you can't assuage. It's too much at once. Recognizing the first pounding of an incoming headache, you rub your forehead in circles. A long sigh comes from the deepest hollow of your lungs.

"I zink you said one zing and I understood anuzzer. Please, forget zat. Zis voice you 'eard is quite, hmm, peculiar. I am sure I did not say anything," you use a calmer voice than your actual state of mind, watching the defiance stirring in her eyes. And then you make a question for your own reassurance, "I need to ask... you are fourteen, non?"

Better than sweeping this under the rug of your subconscious, where it will haunt you every possible way, you should just rule it out entirely.

"Huh?" She clearly didn't keep up with the shift in your thoughts.

"Your... age?" you try again.

She frowns, not too happy with the change of subject. "I can't believe it. You're still checking to see if I'm disoriented. I'm fine, Fleur. Really."

'That makes one of us.'

The brunette studies your face avidly. "I mean it. I can tell you the name of my parents, my address in London, what I did at the library an hour ago, the food served at lunch, I can describe the classes today, the brand of my shampoo, whatever you ask. I'm really okay." Her voice harbors a considerable firmness now.

She keeps on talking, but your brain, the meddlesome thing, starts to try processing information on its own, attempting to join the pieces, rewinding that little word she had said.

You frown.

Is that even how it's supposed to be?

And how would _you_ know?

No, this shouldn't be happening. Actually, it's more than 'shouldn't'. It isn't, and it can't be, because it's impossible. You grew up learning that. Accepting that.

But then... what if? Would that explain at least part of the weirdness?

You look at her. Could it be?

"... and I'm fifteen, by the way."

"Hmm?" you hum, not expecting that. Of all the things she'd been telling you, that one made more of an impact. "You are in fourth year."

"Yes, but my birthday is mid-September, so I'm fifteen," she reiterates.

You sigh again. In relief. Not what you'd assumed, but even in the absurd event that the impossible _was_ an option, her age puts that to rest. No chance whatsoever. No risks.

"I stayed silent all ze time during ze kiss." You backtrack to fix her clear dissatisfaction. "I was too absorbed into what we were doing to even consider spoiling ze moment wiz words."

She nods slowly, thinking, and chooses not to disagree any further.

"Perhaps we should call it a day," you say, pointedly.

"Yeah," she agrees. "You are tired, too. I can see it in your eyes."

"Oui, I am. Can you stand up?" You raise from the bench and offer her a hand. She doesn't take it, and you seek her face, finding there a curious stare set on you. "What are you zinking, 'Ermione?"

"Your hair," she says quietly, standing up by herself. "Now that it's loose, it looks like... _them_."

There's no need to clarify. You know exactly who that 'them' refers to. Both of your hands rise to grip it tightly in a bout of self-consciousness, and you lower your eyes, "It 'as been like zat since I woke up today."

She cups your cheek and lifts your face so she can meet your eyes, "I think it looks stunning. Is that why you had it in a ponytail?"

"Oui," you reply, still uncomfortable.

The brunette brings her other hand forward, and you realize your hair band is encircling her wrist.

She removes it and presents it to you. "It's really pretty, just so you know," she tries again, in a reassuring voice. And then it goes down to a whisper as she caresses your cheek lightly, "You'll get used to it. Everyone will get used to it. That's you, how you are."

You only watch her, carefully. Her brown orbs are misted over, and there's still a slight tremor in her hands. The brunette is looking better, but not still fully back on track. As you're getting your wits together, you start to fix your hair again.

"Please, keep it down," the brunette says, taking your hands away from the strands and looking at their slow motion with a smile. "I mean, at least until we go. I like it that way."

You nod slowly, and twirl the hair band in your hands to keep busy. Now that there are no more distractions, you frown and ask, "Hmm... Should I apologize for what 'appened? Are you upset?"

"Of course not. It was exhilarating," she says, almost without panting. The brunette notices the concern on your expression and goes on, "But there's something you should know."

Your stomach tumbles out of place, suddenly filled with heavy anxiety. "I zink 'ere comes trouble..." you remark, preparing yourself. "You can say it."

She leans closer until your foreheads are resting against each other. Her hands cradle your face, and then she speaks in a hushed voice, "You like me." Her eyes look straight into your orbs, and there's that pull again. "I have a very strong feeling that you really, really like me."

A huge wave of reprieve washes through you, taking down a large part of your concern.

"I do," you whisper back as you pat her locks down, smelling that scent once more. The words may be few and small, but that doesn't limit their meaning.

"That's great," she replies, finally sounding steady. And then her voice breaks into a vulnerable and urgent tone, her hands falling at her sides, "Don't stop. I really like you, too."

Without even thinking, you instantly shake your head, and hug her with an unintentionally crushing strength, before completely releasing her.

Hermione pretends to clear her throat, cough, and then take a few deep breaths. "If I ever have trouble breathing again, you can try that maneuver. My lungs almost popped."

"Forgive me, ma belle. I will remember to take better care of your lungs." You chuckle, twisting your lips sheepishly. "Now, come on, we should get you inside. Are you ready to walk?"

She smiles, shaking her head, "I guess so."

"I will take you to your Common Room. It is not late for me, yet," you comment as you use the wand this time to vanish the bench.

You frown at the hand holding the wand, and no, you really don't remember using it to conjure the bench in the first place. Perhaps it slipped your mind.

The brunette protests right away, "You don't have to do that. It's only a bit past curfew."

"I cannot leave you like zis," you say firmly, waving a hand up and down her frame, leaving out any mention to your guilt or the fact that you are the cause of her current state.

"I'm getting better, and I don't want you out there even later," she counters seriously, gesturing at the darkness past the bridge. "That was the whole point tonight. We still don't know what's going on in that forest."

"Ze Veela do, and zey are patrolling ze woods, day and night. 'Ardly anything can get zrough zeir watch," you come up with a quick argument, and speak with considerable confidence. It seems you're still capable of surprising yourself. "Trust me, it will be fine."

"Then trust me, too. I can do this." The steady posture goes perfectly with the heat in her voice. She's sobered up.

"Are you sure?" you ask more out of concern than doubt.

"Yes, I am sure. I wouldn't lie to you. If I wasn't well, I'd want you to go with me," the brunette nods. "Look, it's late, so I won't even go to the Stone Circle. We should each go our separate ways now."

"Okay. I will let you go, zen." You sigh and hold her hands one last time. "I appreciate what you did, walking wiz me all ze way 'ere. Zis turned out to be an exceptional evening, much better zat I 'ad expected, because of you."

"Thanks. I had a good time, too," she says, smiling. "Er, have you thought about breakfast tomorrow? I mean, it's a Saturday, so do you intend to sleep late or-"

"Non, I will send some letters early, and zen I will 'ead straight to ze Great 'All," you share your plan. "I should be one of ze first to arrive."

"I'll find you, then. Be careful, okay?" The brunette steps closer and seals your lips together. This time it's quick, sweet and chaste, without even a shadow of subtext. An appropriate good-bye.

"Good night, Fleur."

"Good night, 'Ermione," you answer swiftly, and squeeze her hands a last time, before stepping back.

'My lovely girl.'

You fix your hair into a ponytail again as you watch the brunette go, her balance improving slightly at each new step towards the castle. The soft mewling of a cat, coming from the courtyard, takes care of the stillness and silence in the night. You wish there was something that could have the same effect on the sudden void you feel inside at seeing her go.

Once she's about to leave the bridge, you pull out your wand and command the tip to light up. The Gryffindor stops to look back right after she's passed the last lantern, and you can make out her surprise at noticing you're still there.

The brunette points in the direction of the carriage, in a clear suggestion that you should go. You chuckle quietly and nod in agreement. She lowers her hands to pick up something, and the shape of what seems to be a large pet struggles against her, taking both her arms to keep the agitated cargo steady.

After a bit of effort, some ample repositioning and low hisses that proclaim she must be holding a bulky cat, Hermione dislodges the large bundle to a side, and clumsily waves good-bye. Her hand is fast to wrap over the animal again. Your wand rises in salute, and the girl turns away, carrying the furry animal with her.

It's comforting to know she won't be going alone, and it's also a plus that her companion is a cat. They usually have great senses, and that one might warn her in time if anyone tracks her down.

When she's finally out of sight, you worry about starting your journey back to the carriage. Clearing your mind of any thoughts is quite the task now. You can't skip the vivid memories and aftereffects of that kiss, even as you recall every one of the inner shifts you experienced today, in an attempt to make it happen once more. This is something you need now, as an extra advantage.

To your relief, regardless of the inner struggle, it's easier than blinking, taking you by surprise, yet again. You almost don't feel the softer strain in your eyes, and just barely sense the magic running the length of your skin like a comfortable garment, as if your body was absolutely ready for... you are not sure what. Just _more_.

You're not experiencing the intense sensations you'd had before, when battling a dragon had seemed quite doable, and now a sensible amount of practicality takes over. Your skills with Veela magic are poor, they can't come close to your performance with a wand, and facing a dragon is out of the question. It was great to feel invincible before, but realism has a higher chance of keeping you in one piece.

A last glance at the spot where you last saw the brunette and you're up for it. Your pheromones must be skyrocketing right now, which doesn't go very well with the concept of being stealthy, but at least the heightening of your senses should offer a little advantage to detect danger.

It's quite a night, you realize as you walk past the Stone Circle, with scarce blotches of snow spread over the grounds. A soft wind blows from the forest, and the black mantle of the sky is sprinkled by stars and adorned with the moon high above. The clouds seem to be dissipating.

You tread charily, almost expecting that something will spring on you from the shadows. The wand feels light as a plume in your hand, and your wrist is all loose and ready. A deep breath confirms the air is fresh and clean, without any imminent threats that you can identify.

It would be terrific to undergo a change of clothes right now. Your scouting outfit seems so much appealing than this awkward school uniform. The shoes alone are more of a hindrance in the grounds than the skirt, in case you need to make a run for it.

An owl hoots somewhere through the trees, and then another one, farther away, does the same. You stop each time, to look at the woods, quietly listening for a while. At the second pause, the irregular sound of soft pads grabs your attention, nearly stopping your heart halfway through a thump. Silence ensues and you stay very still, gripping your wand as you rely on your senses to guide you.

More pacing and some dislodged rocks rolling about.

Now you can situate it as coming from your left and ahead, beyond the spot where the path bends towards the carriage. The gait is unsteady, somewhat between wobbling or hobbling, and this is clearly not coming from a human. You can hear the animal sniffing, probably searching for traces of the scent that will definitely give away your location. Looking around, there are no trees or large rocks close enough to offer any shelter. Nowhere to go.

Your wand lifts and you are preparing a few spells in your mind, when a slow waft reaches your nose, bringing you a familiar smell.

Wet dog.

Any other time you might make a foul face at how strong it is, hitting you straight on, but right now this is most welcome. You follow the path with less concern, and when you see a hesitating figure turning his large head your way, you quickly call out to him.

"Fang!"

That does it. The large dog trots over, nearly tripping on his paws, barking aloud his wild contentment at finding you.

"You big, overgrown puppy. 'Ow 'ave you been?" you smile, crouching as best you can in your clothing, and scratching his head happily. "Did you sense me all ze way from your 'ome?"

He jumps and doesn't stay quiet for a second. With great effort, you avoid the hulk of his licks, aimed at your face, but you allow him all the fun he wants with your left hand. And then you remember something else, raising your head to look past the shadows in front of you. "Is 'Agrid out, too?"

Fang barks even louder at the mention of the Gamekeeper. He grips your hand between his teeth, pulling you away with him. The large dog is so enthusiastic that it's clear he's missed company, and you let him drag you to the cabin.

To your surprise, the professor is sitting outside, by a bonfire, repairing some type of large equipment.

"Good evening, professor," you say when you're close enough.

He looks up in total shock, clearly not expecting visitors, but then his thick beard barely hides his smile when he sees Fang has a hold on you. "G'evening, Miss Delacoo."

"I am just arriving from ze school, sir. Fang found me on my way to ze carriage," you reply, grinning at the boarhound. "It is nice to see you again. You were missed, professor. And Fang, too."

He settles his glinting stare on the black dog, at first. "Back, Fang. Don' bite her, now!"

Fang lets go of your hand, wobbles forth and plops down on the ground at Hagrid's feet, making himself at home. Hagrid shifts a little to give him more room and you smile at the pair.

Noticing that you made no indication to retire, the half-giant looks uncertainly around and makes a small attempt at conversation, "Bit late fer a walk alone, aren't yeh?"

"My friends 'ad left earlier, while I was redoing my potion for Professor Snape," you explain calmly, unfazed by the discomfort that has him acting less friendly than usual. He's probably not very keen on talking to students right now. "Can I sit wiz you a little?" you ask, hoping he doesn't turn you down.

"Er – o' course, why not?" the enormous man says, glancing rather bashfully at you as he lets the large device in his hands down on the ground and proceeds to stand up. "I'll make tea... An' I have a plate of rock cakes."

You conjure a simple stool and sit close to the warmth, but stay a little away from him and Fang so as not to intrude.

"Merci, sir, I really appreciate zat, but I am dealing wiz an upset stomach now," you reply, and decide he doesn't need to know you're enduring the lasting effects of kissing a student he might be quite close to.

And what effects. When you think of all you just had with her, you can still feel the swarm of butterflies moving about. It'll take a while longer to settle your stomach. And your uneasiness, your mind, your magic...

"Right then," he says, and goes silent. He picks up what you realize to be his oversized crossbow back on his lap.

That works well to keep his eyes away from you without being impolite.

The weapon looks damaged, somewhat battered. The handle is chipped, and he's worried about fixing something about the stringing, it seems. That's tricky for a crossbow, but he's very strong and probably has the necessary knowledge. You'd offer a hand if you had any experience with crossbows and it wasn't so obvious that he needs his space.

"Should be thankin' yeh, fer ev'rythin' yeh did. Them Veela were tellin' me yesterday," he mutters and you shake your head lightly. "Great ter have aroun', Veela. Found 'em when I was a student meself, at tha' village. Bin o' great help. Jus' wish yeh hadn' taken no risks ter go there."

"It was fine, professor. I missed flying, and it was so pleasant. Ze landscapes 'ere are beautiful," you try to avert the subject before he has a chance to scold you for it.

"Yer a student." And here it comes. He's a professor, after all. "Yer not ter go sneakin' in the fores'. It's dangerous what yeh did."

You nod and lower your head, out of respect. Inwardly, you know you'd do it all again, if there was a way to turn back time. Looking around, you seek for something to say to take the conversation elsewhere.

"Hmm... Are you better?" You almost cringe at the shadows that fall on his expression with the question, but conceal your expression at the guise of leaning close to the flames and rubbing your hands together.

When you straighten up, he's lost in his mind, far away from reality, and you go for another attempt, in a very humble voice, "Sir, I am ze same as you."

A dull silence goes on long enough that you start to wonder if he heard you at all.

"Yeh musta bin treated better," he finally mumbles.

"Non, not really, sir," you shake your head quickly. "I 'ad many problems at school, on my initial years. It did not go into a newspaper, and I cannot imagine 'ow you must be feeling after zat, but Beauxbatons was ze place where I learned about prejudice. Some of my cousins preferred to drop out of ze wizarding system, and were educated at our villages."

He glances at you sullenly before turning to the crossbow again, "'S not the same, when yeh're half-giant. Can' teach yeh anymore. Bin gettin' a lotta letters after wha' Rita Skeeter wrote o' me Mum."

And then he mumbles something that you can't hear well, but distinctly has the word 'monster' along the way.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, while watching the large fire. It's a sore topic to wade into, and it never fails to hit too close to home.

Your voice is far more constricted than his was, and low as a whisper, "Veela in non-'uman form are not very popular wiz wizards either, professor. You must know zis. In my school, it did not matter zat I was young, or zat I could not morph. Zere were always zose who would not let me forget zat I was unlike ze rest of zem. My time in 'Ogwarts is ze most calm I 'ave experienced since I started my studies, probably because of zis... champion status."

There's loud sniffing and you try to be inconspicuous when you look at the Gamekeeper through the corner of your eye, catching a glint of unshed tears.

"How did yeh do it?"

Now you make sure he notices you're turning to face him. "Friends, sir. I 'ad very good friends," you tell him quietly. "Zey were my support zrough everything, and stuck wiz me for ze best and worst moments, until I learned enough to stand up for myself."

He seems to nod, his tangly beard grating against his robes, though he prefers to keep his silence.

"If I may add something more personal, sir, I zink you are as lucky as I was." Your voice is calmer, as you watch Fang rolling lazily into a better position, smelling Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. "You 'ave great friends, too, and all zey want is to be wiz you. From what I 'ave seen, zey will not quit trying."

Fang takes notice of your stare and leaps at you, soon ducking by your side, pushing his head into your hand. You pat him heartily, laughing at his nips and licks. When the dog settles down, you stay in companionable silence, glancing at Hagrid every now and then.

He is relentlessly working with his hands to fix whatever is wrong, apparently with the large spring mechanism, but he never asked for your opinion, and you're still unsure he would appreciate that you volunteer a hand.

Being truthful, you know next to nothing about crossbows. They are hardly used by Veela and forest-elves, who prefer the more subtle art of precision with a long bow, rather than the powerful force of arbalests. For a man of his size and strength, though, you have to admit that it should be a perfect fit.

And so your mind is left to its own devices with this sudden interval in the conversation, free to wander. And it goes straight where it wants... Hermione, and that boggling kiss. You almost roll your eyes at yourself. As if you could escape thinking about that.

You _have_ to talk to someone about this, preferably to someone who has answers. Your eyes find Hagrid again, and the impulse pops right up. When you're about to ask aloud, you lock your lips shut and shake your head. No, you need a Veela for this, or at least someone you know well and really trust, for it involves speaking of Hermione, too.

It's scary to be so clueless, even though you can't deny how _wonderful_ all of it was, just like the brunette said. A tight uncertainty starts to compress your guts and that brutal headache is probing your threshold for pain.

You need to steer clear of stress, until you can go back to the carriage and take some remedy potion for this. A look around doesn't offer much options to distract a troubled brain, until you notice the quiver by his feet and, with a bit of hesitation, you reach out a hand slowly, to collect one of the arrows. The man doesn't object, so you pull it out with confidence.

The design is slightly different from typical arrows, as the ones you saw yesterday. These are adapted for his crossbow, a bit thicker and heavier. The fletchings are striped, black and white. Your eyes turn to the arrowhead. Solid.

"Made in the village," his deep voice startles you, "an' supplied fer everyone."

"Oh?" you return, realizing he must've been watching you for a while.

"Except fer 'em heads," he nods. "All compact, see?. Work of centaurs."

"What, sir?" Your eyes check that part again.

"Them fletchers o' the village bin workin' day in, an' day out, fer years, ter put arrows together. Centaurs help, an' forge 'em solid heads," he nods at the one in your hands. And then he adds, "An' Veela, they make the other ones."

"Ze... uzzer ones... Zen zere is a need for 'ollow 'eads 'ere?" you ask, hoping there's a negative answer coming.

"Yep." His fingers twang the cord loudly, apparently to test the result of his work. "On'y in tha' village, nuthin' ter do with the castle."

Not exactly very comforting. "All ze villages I know are like zat. It is a curse."

"A curse tha' came after a gift, I heard," he says hoarsely.

"A gift zat 'ad a very 'igh cost, sir. I wonder what our ancestors were zinking when zey agreed to zis madness," you retort.

"Mighta bin fate," the Gamekeeper states thoughtfully. "Wha' matters is ter keep 'em away. An' tha' yeh do."

It makes little sense, but you frown just the same. "And who is zis 'everyone' you mentioned, sir, zat are supplied wiz arrows?"

"Now, tha's the centaurs, an' me," the Gamekeeper answers as he starts to polish the long handle, "'Course, an' enough fer themselves."

"So zere are no forest-elves 'ere?" you ask. "Or wood-nymphs?"

"Nah, wood-nymphs never made it to the Forbidden Forest. On'y their distant kin, the water-nymphs," he provides, glancing at you.

Your face crinkles in disgust at the news.

"Don' like 'em either, do yeh?" His laughter booms all around, and Fang lifts his head to bark along. "Veela can' stand 'em."

You shake your head, but your lips stay sealed. If he knows Veela well enough, he should understand the underlying animosity between the races.

He goes on, undisturbed by your lack of participation, "An' the elves left, years an' years ago. Hated the weather."

It isn't hard to relate to that, if all Scottish winters are this tough and long, although giving up on an enchanted forest seems a bit drastic.

"Do you like zese?" you inquire, raising the arrow to point out what you're talking about, before reinserting it carefully back into the quiver.

"On'y ones I shoot," he says, with a tinge of pride. "Do yeh use a bow like them?"

"Oui," you reply, feeling Fang twitch against your leg when a strong breeze agitates the flames, changing the route of the rising smoke towards the hut.

The dog worms closer to the warmth of the fire, and he stretches his back while releasing a wide-mouthed yawn, until a small log bursts, spitting sparks on his fur, and he yelps away, searching for comfort with you again.

Hagrid clears his throat from the fumes engulfing him, and his voice sounds hoarse, "Learn when yeh're kids, right?"

"Zat is ze tradition, sir," you explain. "It takes too long to learn well, so we 'ave to start early."

He finally stands up and flaps his free hand and the crossbow around to get rid of the thick cloud. You stay alert to the swings of the long weapon, but they don't come too near to require evasive maneuvers. "Don' yeh miss the woods?"

You sigh as the memories hit you, of the forest, the village, your family, and home. "I do. I miss everything from 'ome. Ze forest around our village becomes so alive when spring arrives."

The man sits down again, smiling contently, "Not used ter our winter, yet, eh?"

"Perhaps not only ze weather, sir. It takes some time to adjust to a different country, non?" you shrug and blush, being as honest as you allow yourself to be, hoping he isn't offended. And then you try to change the subject at once. "Did you see ze Veela today?"

After throwing another log to rekindle the fire, he nods and glances at you, "Bin walking with Fang a bit, to clear me head."

"Ze forest 'elps a lot," you say in sympathy, looking over at the trees ahead. "It keeps ze mind in ze present when one is zere. I find it very soothing, ze sounds and ze silence, ze trees, ze animals, just everything."

He smiles and raises his eyebrows, concurring. It's good to see him on a more conversational mood.

This might be the right opportunity to voice your weird suspicions concerning the woods. "Sir, a few times when I came to zis spot, I could feel ze smell of something rotting, and it came from ze woods. Do you know what it could be?"

"Nah, forest's same as usual. Don' remember no rot," he says, and claps a huge hand on his knee. "Wha' abou' yeh, Fang?"

The large boarhound raises his head at the noise, looks at Hagrid, then at you, back at Hagrid, drools some more, and then flops down again. Even his ears sink down carelessly.

You smile at the dog, but reinforce your opinion, if only to yourself, "I am sure zere was something."

"Dunno, Miss Delacoo," the Gamekeeper states flatly. "Veela won' have none of tha', a threat close ter the school. Real danger's ter stay deep in there."

"Real danger... And you know what zat is, sir, non?" you probe, watching him carefully.

"Not as much as they do," he replies, vaguely. "Veela take care o' that."

You turn your head at the same moment Fang's head snaps up, and his ears raise a little. Footsteps, coming from beyond the hut. Your hand starts to move for your wand, but you notice the steps are slow and noisy.

They're from someone on an easygoing stroll, not even trying to stay concealed. Still, you keep an eye on the spot where whoever it is will eventually show up.

"Fang, boy!"

Your expression molds into a large smile. The boarhound nearly flies towards Cora, barking in joy. She gracefully moves to a side at the last possible second, and the large dog skids away on the mucky ground.

Chuckling at the sight, the girl makes her way to Hagrid and shakes his large hand warmly, without ceremony, "'Ow are you, professor? We came looking for you and zat cute pup every day."

Hagrid stands up, rocking back and forth on his feet, nearly bouncing off the ground in shyness. The little you see of his cheeks is blushing deeply, but there's clearly happiness on his face, as well.

"Missed yer all too, Miss Saw-varge. Erm... Can I offer yeh tea an' a Bath bun?"

"I would love zat, sir."

You make a mental note to praise Cora. Her ability to conceal a wince is worthy of rounds of applause.

Hagrid goes into his cabin, and you soon start to hear him shuffling and banging things around. You notice he's taken the crossbow with him and you're not exactly sure it's supposed to fit indoors.

"Hello," Cora says, conjuring a small bench to sit as she gazes at you with a raised eyebrow.

You smile at her, "I thought you'd be in the carriage with the other girls."

Fang comes back and shakes himself off, sending small sprinkles of melt snow and dirt everywhere. He finally settles at Cora's side, covering her left black leather boot with his large head, and he contentedly starts to drool there, like he's in puppy heaven.

"I was," your friend chuckles and starts to scratch behind his ears, "and I waited for you until it got late. You didn't show up, so I was on my way to the castle."

"You were going to the castle?" you ask in disbelief, looking her up and down. "Dressed like that?"

She glances down at herself, clad in dark skinny jeans, a casual turtleneck shirt that matches the color of her eyes, and an unbuttoned black overcoat. "So? It's the weekend, it's late, and classes are over. I wouldn't even let Professor Snape see me."

"If you say so," you reply, smiling at the thought that one blonde girl probably wouldn't mind a peek at this Cora.

The half-giant appears from the cabin balancing a plate of buns in one hand, and sets a kettle over the fire.

"Merci," the girl replies, choosing one to nibble. Carefully.

"Me crossbow," he whispers under his breath, looking around, and then patting his large pockets as if it might be stashed there, somewhere.

You try not to smile and stand up, "I was about to leave, professor. Zere are some zings zat I still 'ave to do tonight. It was terrific to stop by and talk wiz you again."

"Er, thanks, Miss Delacoo," he says. "G'night."

"I 'ave to walk wiz Fleur to ze carriage, sir," Cora follows after you. "I will be right back for zat tea, okay?"

"O' – o' course," Hagrid says, and then looks uncertainly in the direction you're going.

Answering his unspoken question, Cora adds, "Some of ze girls were planning to take a walk later. Zey might come along, too."

"More water... An' buns... An' rock cakes," he bellows, ticking off a mental list as he turns on the spot, staring at the size of the bonfire, Fang, and the cabin. "Everythin' ready."

"We should go, zen," you pat Fang a last time and nod at Cora, heading for the path.

You notice your companion is quiet, taking small bites from the pastry. Awfully quiet, so unlike her usual bubbly self.

As soon as you've left the cabin at your backs, you slow down to a near stop, "We can talk now. Why were you waiting for me?"

You aim an analytical stare at the girl, on the lookout for the smallest change in her features. There's something filtering through the charms, but you absolutely ignore that, still appraising her with your regular senses.

Her shoulders stoop down, and her gaze trails on the ground close to her feet. "I wanted to know if things had gone well in Potions. You are better today, but Yvonne and I went through another misunderstanding in the morning. She was upset. I hoped it wasn't so bad."

"Right," you nod, realizing how anxious she is. "We did fine, and in great time, too."

"That's great," Cora sounds clearly relieved. "I knew you could do it."

"She is upset," you add, quietly, "for now."

Cora stops in her tracks. "What did she tell you? Say it, come on."

"Don't give up on that girl, just yet." You wink at her, adding in an enigmatic smile, "And, no, I can't say more."

Her eyes scrunch slightly, but she knows it'd be useless to pry. You resume the stroll at an easy and slow pace, stepping over small puddles without damage to your shoes, and her footsteps hurry after you.

"I need to thank you for going after me, but don't do it again, please," you request. "It isn't safe to walk alone at night."

"Do you really think so?" she asks, looking around in doubt, and finally eyeing the woods with a harder expression.

"There is something in the forest," you confirm, "and it could be dangerous. I don't like it."

"Let me get this straight. You believe there's something dangerous out here, and then you return alone from the castle at this hour. That isn't very smart, and it isn't like you." There's reproach in her voice, and her frown only increases the tension of her face. "I left after dinner to do nothing in my room. If you'd told us about this danger, I could've waited for you."

"I'm not entirely sure to start worrying anyone. And Alix said a group would stay to study until Madam Pince closed the library," you retort. "There was a slim chance that I'd finish in time to return with them. Unfortunately, when Yvonne and I were done, I found out no one remained."

"They had an emergency," Cora explains. "Félicie suffered some kind of fit. Reva said she was wheezing so badly that her fingers turned blue. They rushed her to the Hospital Wing, and she didn't get better until the tenth potion kicked in."

"It sounds serious. How is she doing?" you ask, frowning.

Her head shakes lightly, though her face looks calm enough to pacify you. "She's better. Madam Pomfrey didn't have her spend the night in the castle. A bit after the medication worked, the nurse gave them permission to bring her back and get some rest."

You can't help smiling a little. "Everyone must be looking after her and trying to make her comfortable. I'll bet they are checking her progress every ten minutes. I wonder if she's getting any rest at all."

"Yes, well, we all like her," she comments, shrugging like the obvious thing it is. "Madame Maxime noticed her room was too crowded, though, and she took over. The rest of us were gently invited to leave."

The mere thought of that is enough to have you in chuckles.

"But I would have stayed behind to wait for you." Her tone is unmistakable, and you know she means every word.

"Thank you," you intone, swaying around to make a point of looking at her in gratitude.

She nods, and you catch a small smirk in the making, as all seriousness melts away from her expression. You lift an eyebrow, torn between requesting an explanation and dreading what's coming.

Her face is almost evil, in its full teasing mode. "This danger, or whatever you saw in the forest, was it before or after Reva beat you to a pulp?"

"You just had to bring that up." You roll your eyes.

"How could I not?" she says theatrically, with contagious laughter. "We don't see her flying without a broom too often. What a sight!"

"Weird, but true," you prompt, knowing that's quite a concession to your friend. "And to your information, I didn't see anything. I _smelled_ something."

Cora is about to make another witty remark - you just know it - when she glances in your direction and jumps away, startled. Her eyes are wide and she raises a finger a little, though the action halts before she's aiming it at any specific place.

You grip your wand and look around in confusion, then over your shoulders. Nothing.

Wait. Nothing, except...

Your stare returns to Cora, her eyes still very open, and fixed on you. Or, more precisely, on your gleaming skin. A full-out grin blooms on your face.

"You scared me," she finally complains, watching your amusement.

"And without even trying. That's an extra point for me, I guess," you sing your victory playfully.

Quite timidly, she returns to your side and leans a bit closer. "That's new," she whispers.

"It is," you reply, keeping it simple. "One of the unusual things about a Veela growing up, hmm?"

Her stare doesn't detach from you, and you look away, at the carriage, giving her time to get used to the effect. It takes a while, but she eventually clears her throat and starts over. "That is very interesting. I'd never seen anything like it. I mean, I've seen your mother," she corrects herself. "I-I mean, not you, of course. You look-"

"Not human," you cut in, smiling to break the tension. "I know."

"That is not what I was going to say. I had something else in mind. And now you'll never hear it, because of that interruption," she claims in a fake upset tone. "It'll be your punishment."

"Fine, fine," you play along, raising your open hands. "Whatever you say. I surrender."

"Seriously, though," she changes her approach, "should I congratulate you?"

"Oh, no. Please, don't. This is supposed to be normal." It feels strange to say it. You'd really forgotten that your current transition would be a reason for celebration, at least with your family, if you were home or in your village. But here? No, not the same.

And then you stop to think about how it is for regular humans and give Cora an uncertain look. "Unless you celebrate going through puberty?"

She chuckles. "No, not really," and there's a trace of embarrassment in the way she turns to gaze ahead.

You nod, not sure if you should ask further, and try to twist the conversation out of the tight spot. "How was it with McGonagall after Yvonne and I left?"

The girl suddenly turns left and sprints away.

You yell after her. "Cora?"

"It's Guilles," she replies, running for a pile of rocks, and sinking her hands to gather what looks like a pile of snow.

Cora finally returns carrying him, wet and muddy, curled into a spiky ball in her hands. Your wand cleans him up enough so that Madam Maxime will be reasonably pleased, while your friend tickles his small belly and talks playfully, "Got you, tiny pincushion. what were you doing outside, at an hour like this? Madade Maxime will freak out if you aren't in the carriage soon."

She sounds merrier, and puts him on her right shoulder, where he's flanked by you, too. "You were saying?"

The little creature stays perched with effort, clinging tight to his unsteady ride.

"McGonagall," you try again, lifting an eyebrow. "Did you do well?"

"Yes," she nods, apparently thinking about the class. "She didn't have a seizure. I guess that was a sign the presentation was up to par. My group was good, most of them were. You did very well, too. I laughed so much at that acrobatic part, I had tears in my eyes."

"What did you do?" you ask, smiling.

You can see the pride in her eyes, though she doesn't make a show of it, "We transfigured a few objects, and conjured the extra details to build a miniature of the Durmstrang ship. It was a neat replica."

"Wow, really?" That was unexpected. "It must have been awesome. Who was in your group?"

She turns sharply to look at her right, where a large bird just flew by, and that nearly throws Guilles off of her. You raise your hands at either side of him, ready to pick him up if necessary. "Three guys from Durmstrang, including Viktor."

That was even _more_ unexpected. Your hands fall down. "I thought you didn't stand him."

"I didn't. But Reva does, so I'm giving Viktor the benefit of the doubt. I'm her friend. I feel like I should check who the guy really is before she falls too hard for him," she shrugs.

"_Before_ she falls hard?" you shake your head, doubtfully. "I wonder if it could get any harder than it already is."

"I know. I'm late for that ship," Cora shakes her head. "She can be so shy sometimes, it fools me. This is almost funny. I thought she was the least likely of us to have a crush in foreign lands. Who knew romance would strike her so hard?"

You notice she avoids any specific mentions to England, but say nothing about it. "What is your opinion of him now?"

"It turns out he's quite acceptable."

Great. Now you have friends defending him as well.

She continues, despite your automatic shift into scowling mode, "His fans are the tough deal. The most annoying girls were ready to curse me for being there."

This is something you can completely agree with her, at least.

"I know how it is. That Applebee girl is a total pain in the neck. It's great that she can't glare me to death, or she might be tempted," you say darkly, and Cora starts to chuckle. "How did you handle her?"

She smirks rather evilly, and you glance at her in silent query. "You know me, right? I am not the kind of girl to give in to anyone-"

"Except Yvonne," you slip in a whisper.

A frown dabs her face, before she glares at you in a flash, and then slowly restores her previous expression. "Yvonne is not 'anyone'. Besides, she and I are _negotiating_, which is very different."

Your time to smirk, but you nod and keep your lips sealed.

"If I may continue," she adds, and you can hear the taunting note in her voice, daring you to interrupt again, "I don't take trash from anyone. After Applebee made her first face at me, I had the boys smiling and laughing every chance I got, until that vein in her forehead was throbbing."

You laugh heartily, shaking your head. "Reva was right. You can be mean when you want to. Too bad I missed it."

"Oh, come on. I'm a nice girl," her voice is closer to a purr, and she winks in a naughty way. "It doesn't stop me from biting when I have a good reason."

"I'll keep that in mind, Sauvage," and you can't stop laughing.

She smiles smugly, "Wise decision, Delacour."

The melody of your chuckles rings the rest of the way to the carriage. When your destination is only meters away, the Knarl becomes so agitated that Cora has to keep him in her hands again.

"Listen," you touch Cora's wrist as she climbs the first step to the door, "I wanted to ask you for a little help."

"You need my help?" She stops before going further up. "With what?"

"My disaster of a potion." Your lips twist uneasily, "I'd like to understand what went wrong there."

"Actually, it was a very interesting result. A single potion with those destruction and corrosion levels is a rare accomplishment, and did you notice the color?" she comments, and it sounds so close to a compliment that if this was anyone but Cora, you'd believe they were being sarcastic. "When do you want to do it?"

"Sunday morning could be a good option, if you had no plans. In the school library we'd have all the books to ourselves and hardly any distractions. Few students go there on a Sunday," you suggest.

"I'll go, sure. I think it will be a fun project," the girl beams, so satisfied that she tosses Guilles up in the air, and the little guy squeaks in protest. "Sorry, buddy."

"Thank you, Cora. I look forward to Sunday," you join her up the stairs and you're soon past the wards, drying your shoes as you step into the carriage.

And then you are greeted by Reva, Lou-Ann, Sylvie and Solenn, who are on their way out.

"Hello," you greet them, although you suspect your smile is less bright than theirs. "Where are you going?"

Reva is the one closer and shoots right away,"Out, for a walk. Classes are over and we are _free_. Yayyy!" The small girl is so enthusiastic that her hands are in fists to keep herself from clapping. It's taken you all a while to help her contain her exaggerated outbursts when she's on a roll. "Don't you wanna change and come along?"

"I'm really tired, so I'll pass for tonight," you sigh. "Sorry."

Cora, on the other hand, promised to go back for her tea, and she smiles at her best friend. "Wait for me. I have to take Guilles through Damus, first."

"Okay," Solenn pipes up. And then she turns to you as Cora saunters away, with an eager expression, "How was it? Did you explode that classroom this time?"

You look at her in surprise, and feeling slightly offended, too.

She quickly explains conspiratorially, "It would be so awesome if you did. Can you imagine a week or two without Potions until they rebuilt the dungeons?"

In a blink, you are convinced of her sincerity. You know a few students who would be all too happy to get a rest from Potions. Apparently it didn't occur to her that you would be liable for the destruction of school property. But then, that's Solenn.

"Well, it wasn't meant to happen today," you shrug, ending all her hopes right then. "The potion went fine. Professor Snape didn't have a chance to complain, so Yvonne and I are off the hook for now. No detention for us."

Her eyes widen a little as she seems to realize you had a reputation to uphold, after all.

Lou-Ann is on a very high-up-in-the-clouds mood, and swiftly ignores the whole Potions subject. "Your cheeks look very rosy, Fleur. Is it really so cold outside?"

"A bit, but it's a great night for a walk. You'll warm up soon, and won't feel a thing." Your stare checks their attire and you nod in approval. They'll be fine. "You should start by going to see 'Agrid."

Reva jumps up and down, grinning, "He's back?"

You can't help smiling along, "Yes, and Fang is with him."

"Oooh, I'm going to tell him all I think of that Skeepter woman." The small girl runs all the way to the end of the corridor and yells, "Hurry up, Cora!"

It's quite a noise in the Central Hall and, surprisingly, Madame Maxime doesn't show up to investigate.

"Good night," you say to the trio of girls waiting by the door, and walk in the same direction that Reva and Cora took.

You can listen to the conversation that the girls probably had going before you arrived. Lou-Ann is telling the others another tale of her prince charming. She isn't the kind to brag or coat her stories with rainbows and star dust, but it can be a bit too much to take in when one's relationship isn't doing as well.

As you had suspected, a single look over your shoulder and you can tell that Sylvie is in a tormented place right now. Lou-Ann, on the other hand, is so enraptured in her own joy that she never noticed the misery in her companion's eyes.

When you cross paths with the girl that is returning to the door, you call her attention in a whisper, "Oh, Reva?"

"Yes?"

"Can you do me a favor and tell 'Agrid that I forgot to offer him help to transplant his new enchanted tree?" you ask.

"Okay," she replies at once.

"You should make sure Sylvie overhears you," you prompt, raising an eyebrow to stress the suggestion in the air.

She nods slowly and steals a secretive glance at the brooding girl, while you pace ahead, sticking your neck over the entrance to the Central Hall. You say your good nights to keep the basic formalities, and get ready to retire to your room.

"Fleur, wait up."

The voice reaches your ears when you're heading for the staircase, "Alix?"

"Hi. Uhm, I'm sorry for earlier," she says awkwardly, reaching you.

You look at her in confusion. "Which earlier are you talking about?"

"I hadn't expected anyone in the bathroom, only Yvonne, and I wasn't even sure if she'd be there," she explains.

'Oh, _that_.' You brush it off with a shrug, "It was okay. No harm done. You could've stayed with us. I'd have introduced you to 'Ermione."

She nods, glancing at the other girls sitting by the fireplace, scrunching her mouth this way and that a few times, like she was swishing a bit of mouthwash around. You clear your throat to get her attention again.

"Do you want us to have that talk tonight?" she finally whispers.

The intensity of the head shake should be enough, but it's best to make sure she understands, "It isn't a good time right now."

"You are not going to chicken out on me, are you?" she asks with a small, challenging smirk.

"No, not at all," you reply firmly. "In fact, I think we should do it soon. I _really_ need to talk to someone."

"Is it, uhm..." The smirk has disappeared completely, and she goes another way. "Are you okay?"

You make an effort to smile, hoping she doesn't insist. "I'm fine for now. I have to write some long letters to my family, and sleep early tonight. Perhaps... tomorrow?"

"Okay. Tomorrow. After studying," she doesn't stop nodding. "That should be a great time to do something."

One simple nod and you turn to leave. "'Night, Alix."

"Good night."

And then you remember something, "Hmm... Alix? You kept Yvonne busy in the corridor when I was in that ladies' room with 'Ermione, didn't you?"

"A little," she admits, hesitating to look at you, as if she feared you were upset. "You deserved a treat."

"Thank you, then," you smile, putting her concerns to rest. "That was a real treat, the best part of my time in the dungeons today."

"It wasn't only me." Her green eyes glint merrily. "Yvonne wouldn't let the conversation end. She went on asking questions that had nothing to do with what I was telling her. I think she wanted you to have extra time, too,"

"Good to know." You nod, not entirely surprised. "I heard about Félicie. What was that?"

Her calm expression slumps into a very tired one, "She took a book from the Restricted Section, and when she opened it, an orange cloud puffed out, right at her face. It did something to her lungs. She couldn't breathe. You had to have been there to see it."

"But what was she looking for in the Restricted Section?" you ask, shaking your head. "The books for our exams are nowhere near that place."

"She was researching something for Defense Against the Dark Arts. You and her talked the other day, all the way to Herbology, and she wanted to check on it again. I think she said... uhm..." she pauses to think, and rubs her forehead, as if it would help. "Was it Occlumency? Whatever. Anyway, Madam Pomfrey had to work quickly."

You want a lot more details than that. "What else can you tell me?"

She shrugs, "I don't have a clue on what she was looking for. I can't even remember your discussion."

There goes some tremendous eye-rolling. "I meant about Félicie. How is she?"

"She's okay, almost good as new." The girl looks at the staircase, and then to the upper landing. "Did you want to see her? She might be asleep now."

"I'll check if she's up on the way to my room," you nod. "And the book that did this to her?"

She scowls. "In our opinion, it should be removed from the library. Maybe Madame Maxime will argue that, once Félicie is fully recovered." She sees your raised eyebrow and finally answers your question. "The nurse sent a note to Madam Pince, asking her to retain it. She told us it won't be allowed for consultation until the staff considers it safe for use again."

"At least it's been taken care of," you nod. "Anything else I've missed today?"

"Uhm, where do I start?" she runs her hand through her hair, and you get ready for the list. "Sylvie isn't doing too well with her boyfriend, we heard them fighting. Cora had a reclusive night. Lou-Ann thinks it won't take long for Mr. Perfect to propose. And Madame Maxime surely had one of _those_ days. Don't cross her. Damus didn't let us in to ask her about those books with clashing information in Charms. I think she had more documents from the Ministry again, now that the second task is next month."

"Okay, I consider myself warned," you say. With a taunting smirk, you tilt your head and add, "And... I did fine, in case you wanted to know."

"Oh? _Oh_... Right. Snape," she mumbles, sheepishly. "Uhm, sorry."

"Never mind, I was messing with you. I think you had quite the evening, too," you reply, softening your expression.

"It's almost time for her potion, again," Alix whispers, checking her watch. And then she frowns at you, "Why did it take you so long to get back?"

"It didn't. We breathed through the potion. But, after that..." you pause and smile. "'Ermione waited for me."

She looks impressed. "Nice."

"Yes, it really was." You stretch your arms high above your head, and then yawn. "She's great."

"I like to see you smile like that," she says, looking from you to the stairs again, and taking a few steps back. "We're definitely talking tomorrow. Now, you get some rest. I won't last long, either. My eyes are closing down on me."

"Okay. See you tomorrow!" you intone, waving at her.

You hop up two steps at a time until you're over the stairs and into the long corridor. The walk to Félicie's door is short, and you stop to listen in, wondering if you should knock. There are weak creaking noises coming from the room, as if someone was rolling around, adjusting their position on a mattress. Your hand rises in mid-air, getting ready to knock, when a deep voice speaks at your back.

"Mademoiselle Gaudet has been medicated. Madame Maxime requests that her sleep is not disturbed."

Spinning on your heels, you lower your hand and look at the marble bust that just delivered the message.

"Thank you for the message, Monsieur Mondeville." As an afterthought, you add a late "Good night" before you turn a corner, and keep on walking.

As soon as you've entered your room, shoes are set aside, and then you restore the bag to its natural size and hang it over your chair. The wand is placed on your desk, and you continue to the bathroom, unbuttoning your blazer on the way. The blouse receives the same treatment next, and you finally unzip the skirt. You're hurrying now, so there will be a good number of hours of sleep between the time you get to bed and an early rise tomorrow. A quick search through the pockets reveals the feather from Peppy. You'd almost forgotten about it. The clothes end up in a pile for you to pick up later.

The candles close to the mirror will be of use, so you light all of them, and then set your hands at either side of the sink. There's a quick round of blinking, and you hover ahead, close to the flames, to check your reflection.

You will the flow of magic once more, watching intently as small swirls of silver engorge and blend together, taking over each iris. The 'other color,' as Yvonne called it, the one that betrays your unusual ancestry. A proof of your dual nature, of secrets lying just below the surface.

Still in front of the mirror, you watch the silver slowly recede into tiny taints amidst the blue. You move closer, still able to detect them. They won't disappear completely, but at least they are not very easy to see, either.

You sigh. These were only a small addition to another atypical day. All the encounters with Hermione flow across your mind as you take a moment to yourself, a moment to delve into the heavy turbulence of your thoughts, to reevaluate everything, and also to try not to freak out even more about the night.

Memories jump to and from the background, but no other is as astonishing as the last. You lick your lips, tasting the weak semblance of cherries that the brunette left on your skin, and it can't compare to what she's seared inside you.

You look down at your hands, considering the changes that are shaping you into someone very different from who you've always been. Too different. And there might be more in store for you.

How many changes will it take for you to wonder if you still fit among humans? Will that ever happen?

The conversation with Hagrid comes to the forefront.

Could this make your friends turn away?

Can it open a rift between Hermione and you? Will it ever influence the way she sees you?

The questions strike blunt blows on your self-confidence, each one followed by a spark of fear.

You shake your head. It's necessary to stop with all this thinking. Those doubts won't lead you anywhere, except straight into a headache and depression.

Perhaps you really are in over your head. Whatever this 'losing control' issue might mean, it seems to be slowly taking shape. You twirl the feather in your hand, seriously considering a change of heart.

Tomorrow you could bring it up with Hermione, if you find a breach to sneak it into the conversation. It would be interesting to hear her opinion. Or Alix, once you bring her up to date, although you still have to decide whether or not to tell her of the Veela.

Taking off your undergarments, you remove your necklace, too, and attach the feather to another link. The shower is quick, as is the getting dressed, and then you comb your hair until it's shiny, and there are no loose strands left.

You take a potion for the headache, leave the sleeping draught under your bed, and sit down to work on writing letters. The first is for Anca, thanking her for the visit to Hagrid, her message, and also letting her know that you finally saw him out of the cabin tonight. The next is a simple, shorter one, to your grandmother, telling her about school, how you found the village at the Forbidden Forest, the Triad, and Hestia, a Veela from the Elatia. Finally, the harder one, addressed to your mother. Using the one you had written before as reference, you to include everything you can, the latest news of the week, with long explanations of the Triad, Katalin, Anca's proposition and your refusal, then a full description of your new changes, and the fact that any search through the books has turned into a frustrating dead end.

She'll have to say _something_ after that.

All three letters are rolled up and ready for sending. You reach into your bag to check Gabrielle's letter once more, and consider the missing sketch on Harry and Hermione. It won't be the same without it. You can imagine her complaints when she sees the other ones and realizes you never showed her the brunette. Time for more sketching, then.

You swivel in your chair and pull out the sketchbook from your bag. A soft sparkle catches your eye, and your stare zooms on the golden egg, the key to winning - and surviving - the next task of the Tournament, nestled on the farther corner from your bed. More than a month has passed since you grabbed that egg, and there it is, still undeciphered. It isn't in you to procrastinate, when the first task wasn't child's play at all.

You stand up and take in everything unusual in your room, the Veela books on the shelf, the random strands of hair that you vanish at once, the chain around your neck, the long letters you just wrote, and the sketchbook in your hands.

No, this hasn't been procrastination. You've been overwhelmed with other things to do, many other things keeping your mind busy. You'll get to the egg, once you have the minimum you need to move forward. And those letters, or at least _one_ of them, should provide just that.

You sit on your bed, with your back propped on pillows against the headboard, getting comfortably ready for an activity that has proven to slow down your restless mind. Flipping through the pages, you reach the sketch you'd begun in the library yesterday, and your hand works quickly, finishing it off with a little shading and the necessary tweaks, here and there, until you're happy with the results.

As expected, another yawn soon has you covering your mouth. You feel more relaxed now, and wobble in your spot to sit very upright, defying sleep while you turn a fresh page. In your mind's eye you conjure the image you want of Hermione, and then line after line takes place and shape, dashing over the paper, guided by so many memories.

When you're done, you leave the pencils at the nightstand, lie down and hold that page up, in a position where it stays well lit. Your eyelids are wilting, weighed down by drowsiness. You take a long breath before you stop to look at the work.

Actually, you stop to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you from the page. You've outdone yourself this time. The correct proportions of her face, the fine curves of her features, even the details of her wild hair are there, all there. And this soft smile is exactly like the last one she gave you today, an hour or so ago.

Slowly, a fingertip traces the outline of one cheek, then goes down to her chin, and makes it to the other cheek.

'Who are you, Hermione Granger?'

The question takes over your mind. You want to know so much more about her.

Even more carefully, you trace the lips that you can still feel teasing your skin. The lips you kissed until she couldn't take it anymore.

'What did I do to you?'

And then you look at the enticing eyes that held you spell-bound all day.

'And what are you doing to me?'

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


End file.
